


An Incorrect Summoning and a Whole Lot of Weasleys

by Too_Short_for_My_Own_Good



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dumbledore Bashing, F/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Order of the Phoenix AU, Two Universes with Different Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7930054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Short_for_My_Own_Good/pseuds/Too_Short_for_My_Own_Good
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know all those stories where a victorious Harry is summoned to another world to fix all their problems? Imagine if it went wrong and George Weasley was snagged instead. A George who'd lost Fred, had far too many marital problems, was forced to leave behind two kids, and maybe came from a place where the war had totally decimated the magical population. He has a chance to save his brother, and he's going to take it. But nothing is ever simple with a Weasley twin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I am Kidnapped

My first thought was that I was going to throw up.

My second one was, where the hell did my chair go?

I normally have some warning before my furniture vanishes, usually in the form of a large bang or the strong smell of something burning. Being George Weasley has its hazards.

I blinked. The nausea surged for a brief moment, and I resisted the urge to dry heave. When it disappeared I took in my surroundings, being careful not to move. It was possible that, wherever I was, my hosts/kidnappers didn't know I was there, or at least awake.

Surviving a war has its paranoia.

Everyone in the room was staring at me, so no luck there; I wouldn't even have time to reach my wand if they were seasoned at this. I blinked again, and resisted the urge to scream and hide.

Dumbledore was standing directly in front of me, just outside of what looked like a butchered attempt at a summoning circle. Snape was behind him, Sirius Black on his left side. My [much younger] parents were to my right, a [very much younger] Professor McGonagall to my left, and I could hear the rest of the Order of the Phoenix behind me. Someone, I assumed Tonks, tripped over something and cursed under her breath.

I was already on my hands and knees, so collapsing wouldn't do much, unfortunately. I bowed my head and took a deep breath. Then I took another one. And then a third.

"Hello," Dumbledore said somewhat warily, though not unkindly.

I gritted my teeth. The man's hero act had been pieced together by me, Hermione, and Rita Skeeter a few years after the war. No one had been very upset at that point. Everyone had guessed it, and they didn't need the proof.

Now, to have him standing here in front of me, having forcibly summoned me into what could only be either the past or another universe, was a little too much. The man was responsible for the war which killed my brother, who turned my wife insane, and made my children more paranoid than old Mad Eye.

I wanted to kill him. Evisceration sounded good. Maybe I could get Charlie to lend me one of his dragons…? No, I'd much rather throttle him. Possibly Avada Kedrava him.

That wasn't an option at the moment, though. He wasn't the only wizard Tom Riddle had ever feared for no reason, and I couldn't defeat the whole order by myself, anyway. Well, maybe if Snape, McGonagall, Mad Eye, and my mum were out of the way. I wouldn't mind getting Snape; an ear for an ear, as they say. McGonagall, however, was not going to happen. She, I think, had been hit the hardest by Dumbledore's betrayal. Mad Eye was old, but he was quick and skilled, and he already had his wand pointed at me. There was no way I'd even try mum. The woman had killed Bellatrix Lestrange, for crying out loud. Not to mention she was my mother.

I sat up, rested my hands on my knees in what I hoped looked like a relaxed position, and stared impassively at Dumbledore. I may have hated the man, the last one for his glory seeking and this one for kidnapping me, but he didn't need to know that.

The entire room gasped when they saw my face. Interestingly enough, I would have bet an entire week's wages that it wasn't because they recognized me as George Weasley, but because of my war-worn appearance.

There was a ragged dark hole where my left ear used be, and over the years I'd noticed I'd developed a very fierce gaze. My clothes weren't exactly the typical wizard wear of my school years, either; a black dragon skin jacket [Fred's], a blue button down shirt [Fred's], faded blue jeans [mine], and dragon skin boots [a birthday present from Charlie].

Mad Eye's mad eye was fixed to me, swirling around as he noticed all my 'accessories'. There was a holstered wand on each arm [Fred's on my right, my own on my left], two invisibility cloaks, a very large spare potions kit [specially stocked by yours truly], several bags of suspicious looking candy and fireworks [made by yours truly], and a knife in my pocket [useful for making dinner and slicing up bad guys]. I knew he didn't notice all my disguised knickknacks; that was why they were disguised.

Dumbledore frowned. "Do you speak English?" he asked worriedly.

I contemplated answering. On the one hand, pretending not to speak English would be highly entertaining. On the other hand, it would be no use to me whatsoever, and there was always the chance someone [Dumbledore] had designed a language-learning charm, rune, potion, or spell. I myself had developed the very first language rune about three years after Freddie had been born.

"Yes," I said simply.

He looked relieved. "Excellent. Are you Harry Potter?"

I blinked. Why did he think I was Harry? Oh, bugger. He must have tried to summon Harry and got me by mistake. Blimey, when I made that vow to protect Harry, I didn't think that this would happen!

I decided to play my hand carefully.

I scoffed. "You mean you don't know me? One of the richest wizards in Europe? Said to be the cleverest? Inventor, researcher, businessman? You think I'm Harry Potter? Do I have a bloody lightning bolt on my forehead?" I almost said scar before I remembered my missing ear. Oops.

Everyone gasped at my tone. Dumbledore looked shock.

"Yes, well, I apologize, my dear boy," he said, his eyes regaining a familiar Twinkle™. "We were expecting Mr. Potter."

"Like Hell," I scoffed again. "You need my little brother, you can bloody well manage with me."

Everyone gasped again, and I smirked inwardly. Even if it was only for a moment, let them think my world was vastly different, and the Potters had had a tall red head for a son before Harry.

"I…" Dumbledore trailed off. "I am sorry. May I ask your name?"

I shrugged. "You may." I had expected him to use Legilimency on me through the Twinkle™, but he hadn't yet. Pity; I had the strongest Occlumency ever heard of. Insomnia had kept me busy over the years.

Dumbledore frowned, clearly getting the hint that I wasn't going to cooperate easily. "What is your name, my boy?"

I smiled at him widely, but it wasn't friendly; it was like a shark. He had the nerve to call me 'his' boy? "George Weasley," I answered. "The most powerful wizard in Europe."

There was silence. I really mean complete silence. No one spoke. No one moved. No one breathed. Talk about crickets.

"He's lying," Snape finally spoke up in his familiar drawl. Oh, how I missed his dead, rotting corpse…

I slowly stood and turned to face him. "Oh really? Tell me, Snape, do you still love Lily Evans? Still wish you hadn't told Riddle that prophecy? Still try to save Harry's life each year, even as you try to make it miserable?"

There were shocked gasps from all around the room. Snape gaped at me for a moment before trying (and failing) to regain his composer. The pale man sat down shakily, refusing to meet my gaze. Ha. One for the Weasley.

"I never—"

"Shut up," I told him icily. "I don't want to hear it." I turned back to Dumbledore. "You call me here for a reason or just an ill-timed visit?"

Dumbledore looked interested. "Was this a bad time?"

"Every time's a bad time," I replied coldly. "This time was particularly bad. My potion has probably overflowed and all my notes will have burned up. Possibly the table, too. I needed to renew the flame freezing charm on it."

"Oh? Were you researching something?"

"None of your damn business."

"George!" my alternate [it had to be alternate, didn't make sense to be time travel] mother screeched at me suddenly. "Don't talk to the headmaster that way!"

I sighed, though I wasn't feeling guilty at all. Most of my emotions has dried up a long time ago, somewhere between Fred's death and when the charm on Angelina had worn off. "Somewhere, very far away, Molly Weasley will be going frantic looking for her son, whose cauldron is now useless and whose table is on fire. You are not my mother, and I will speak to whomever I want, however I want. Is that understood, Mrs. Weasley?"

There was silence again.

My alternate father gently took my gaping alternate mum's hand. "Yes, George. I'm sorry. We didn't think of that."

I nodded, making sure Molly [it was weird to call her that, she looked exactly like mum] caught my gaze. "I am, too, but that's no reason to yell at me like I'm a child. I'm not, and I haven't been in a long time."

"How old are you, then?" Tonks asked curiously.

I grinned at her, and she shivered. Strange, but not an unusual reaction around me. "Ah, Tonks, good to see you again. Still clumsy as ever?"

Her hair turned Weasley red. "You mean the other me was clumsy too?"

"I'm thirty-two," I answered her first question. "Any more questions, or can I go home?"

Dumbledore spoke up again, just like I was afraid of. "Hold on, George, my boy. We called you here because we need your help."

And there it was. The plea for salvation. The famous Potter Problem.

Did I really have to deal with this?

"Look," I growled, my hands itching to release my wands. "I've got two children at home and a full time job I need to get back to now. Send me back, or I'll show you all exactly what I learned from the other Mad Eye."

They all took a step back, Mad Eye looking especially nervous. That ought to show them.

Dumbledore, of course, didn't move or look nervous. He did, however, look especially sad. He was faking. "George, my boy, I am afraid I have some bad news…"

I had already figured it out. I wasn't called the cleverest wizard in Europe for nothing. "You don't know how to send me back, because you didn't think you'd need to send me back after I killed Riddle."

Everyone looked shocked.

"Who's Riddle?" Kingsley asked tentatively. Ah, the Minister…Kingsley made a good Minister. I'd voted for him.

"Tom Marvelo Riddle," I replied, glowering at Dumbledore. "Known as Voldemort." There were gasps when I said the name. Merlin, were the majority of them Gryffindors or not? "Let me see your notes; I'm sure I can find my own way home."

Dumbledore smiled sorrowfully. "Unfortunately—"

"The notes were destroyed when you made the circle so no one else would find them." It was obvious now. Unless I was willing to rip yet another hole in the universe, I was stuck here.

Everyone looked shocked again.

Arthur cleared his throat. "I am really so sorry we didn't think about what we were doing, er, George."

"It's obvious you didn't know what you were doing, all right," I growled, still glaring at Dumbledore. "You kidnapped me. I have the right to kill all of you right now, burn the house down, and figure out my own way home."

There were more gasps.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tonks said nervously. "You must be joking."

I sighed, and relented. "All right, I couldn't burn the house down."

There was a pause.

"I'd be well within my rights to kill you all, though."

Another pause. Time to drop the cauldron.

"You do realize that my world finished the war years ago, right?"

Dumbledore sighed in relief. "That's—"

"More than half the magical population of the UK was slaughtered, half of what remained were incapacitated and are either dead or in St. Mungo's, and the rest look like they've been fed to the werewolves. Sorry, Professor Lupin."

Lupin barely gasped, "It's all right." He was white and shaking, nothing like the man who'd been murdered by Dolohov.

"It couldn't have been that bad?" McGonagall asked cautiously.

"Imagine everyone looking like either me or Mad Eye," I said coolly. "Now imagine everyone as paranoid as Mad Eye, and think of that being considered average. Finally, think about the entire wizarding world of the UK fitting into the Great Hall at Hogwarts."

Someone screamed. I think it was Vance.

"That's my world," I explained coldly. "This is me. If you wanted someone who's willing to kill, you've got it. But I have conditions."

"Where's Fred?" My mother asked, her voice high pitched in her desperation and fear. Did she think my brother might be less mad? No, that couldn't be it. He had always been more impulsive and cruel than me to begin with.

My heart stopped. I'm pretty sure my magic flared and the room temperature dropped, because everyone shivered and inched away from me.

"Fred?" I asked, absolutely no emotion in my voice. "He's been dead for twelve years."

Mum choked back a sob and turned into dad, whose mouth had fallen open. Everyone else stared at me with incomprehension.

"What?" I asked, my voice hard. "I told you, most people were killed. With a family as large as mine, you really think we'd get away unscathed? We're lucky it was only Fred." The words felt hollow, true as they were.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You're twin is alive upstairs, at this very moment. I am sure we can discuss your conditions."

My heart stopped again. Of course Fred would be alive here; a younger Fred, a different Fred, a Fred and George. He wasn't my twin, and he already had a George.

I blinked. Dumbledore was willing to sell my twin to get some stranger claiming to be George Weasley to off the Dark Lord? Were they even going to give me veritaserum or something to see if it was really me? Good Merlin, how desperate were they?

"You'll answer each and every one of my conditions or I'll sit by and watch as Riddle slaughters your world like he did mine."

A hideous vase to my right shattered. Bloody Hell. I needed to reign in my magic before the whole house blew up. On the other hand, that might not be such a bad idea…

Sirius let out a cheer. "You destroy more of my mum's stuff and I'll give you the Ministry on a platter."

"Last time you stormed the Ministry," I told him, "you died."

"Oh," his mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Maybe not the Ministry, then."

"Maybe not," I agreed with the Marauder. "Now, my conditions. First, I want complete access to the Black library."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I believe we can arrange that. Sirius?"

Sirius shrugged, seemingly not caring about his alternate's death. "All right."

"I want all the books you took out returned, along with all the other Black books in the house. If there's curses on them, I'll get them myself."

"But—" Mum tried to object.

"Molly, George is an adult. I'm sure he can handle himself," Dumbledore reassured her. Wow. He must have been really desperate.

My mum didn't look happy, but she quieted down.

The Order hadn't been that loyal to him in my world, had we? Merlin's tiny wand, no wonder we lost so many.

"I don't want any one of you criticizing my technique on anything," I paused, an idea forming in my head. "And I want guardianship of the twins."

Pandemonium ruled.

"What?!" Mum yelled. Dad tried to ask something, but I couldn't hear him over the noise. Several other people added comments or objections, but I ignored them.

"I am afraid that both Mr. Weasleys are of age," Dumbledore protested.

"Then give them to me as apprentices."

He paused. Mum tried to interrupt, but he put up a hand. "I'm afraid I still don't see—"

"They're both in school," I narrowed my eyes at him. "It can happen." A nearby painting ripped itself in half, leading Sirius to give another cheer.

Dad frowned. "I want a solid contract," he said quite reasonably, ignoring both Mum and Dumbledore.

I nodded. Placing his sons in an apprenticeship contract was much better than trying to convince me to kill someone because an alternate, younger version of my dead twin was here. "I'll be happy to see that. Shall we draw it up now?"

Mum gasped, and Dad's eyebrow's shot up. "You want to do it now?"

Dumbledore tried to interject, but I cut him off. "This is family business, Dumbledore. The Order can leave."

"The Order will stay here," he said. Thinking that over, he glanced around. "If anyone needs to leave, they may."

No one left.

"All right," I conjured a table; not one of my best works, but the quick spells I'd learned in school, while not as long lasting, were faster than the ancient ones. "Paper?" a long scroll appeared on the table, along with an inkpot and several quills.

My father sighed. "Molly?"

She reluctantly relented. "Make sure they're safe, Arthur."

The contract we drew up was long and complicated. It took several hours, and most of my bargaining skills, which weren't much to begin with when they didn't involve blood of some sort.

I, Arthur William Weasley, and my legal spouse, Molly Ginevra Weasley nee Prewett, hereby bequeath, bestow, and entrust the care, guardianship, and education of my sons, Frederick Gideon Weasley and George Fabian Weasley, to the alternate George Fabian Weasley, the elder, until such time as Frederick and George (the younger) are 30 years of age, as of midnight the 1st of April, 2008.

I, George Fabian Weasley, alternate and elder, hereby undertake and accept the care, guardianship, and education of Frederick Gideon Weasley and George Fabian Weasley, the younger, and understand the following duties. I swear on my magic, mind, and life to fulfill them to the best of my abilities.

I understand that I and I alone am solely responsible for the health and education of these two. I will hold myself responsible if anything endangers their health and education. I understand it is my duty to define the needs and wants of their education.

That meant that they couldn't study under anyone else without my permission. I also had to blame myself if they got hurt or failed their grades, but I carefully worded it so that I wouldn't actually get into any trouble; unless I broke the law, of course. Also, I got to decide exactly what 'education' meant, so I couldn't actually get in trouble for failing to give them a proper education.

I will provide a place for them to live, ideals and crafts for them to learn, and guidance should they need it until they both reach their thirtieth birthday, with the understanding that I am also responsible for their actions under my care, and will punish or reward them as I see fit.

I had to make sure they had adequate housing and learning, with the knowledge that if they screwed up, not only would it be up to me to punish them [or not], but I could legally be held responsible for their doings.

Also, by saying that they both had to reach their thirtieth birthday, it meant if there was a situation like mine, the surviving twin would be stuck under me forever, or at least until I released him.

They shall rely on me for non-emergency housing, shelter, food, water, clothing, and healing until they both reach twenty-five years of age, or I judge them capable of providing it themselves.

They had to live with me until they turned they turned twenty-five or I said otherwise. I had wanted thirty, but mum and dad had both disagreed. Again, both twins needed to reach twenty-five.

Neither shall court nor marry anyone without my express approval and permission until they reach the age of thirty, nor shall they impregnate anyone until after they wed.

This was to avoid a situation like with Angelina. I didn't know how responsible the alternate twins were, so I decided to throw in the pregnancy thing, too. No need for me to have alternate kids yet.

Neither shall invite a guest to my home without my permission or knowledge. If a previous guest wishes to return, I am to be told within 48 hours of the visit except in an emergency.

I would make sure every detail of my wards were sufficient enough to keep out a combined team of Dumbledore and Riddle.

They will understand that if they wish to visit with anyone I have not given permission for, they are to ask for it and accept my answer.

I would not have them run off to play with a friend just because I said a certain person wasn't allowed in the house.

If they wish to leave my current place of residency for any reason, they are to inform me immediately, and will leave only with my permission.

Mum liked this one. She thought they would be safer from the war if they were holed up at my place. I didn't inform her that meant they couldn't visit places like the Burrow unless I wanted them to.

Any duels, challenges, dares, or contests they wish to participate in must be allowed by me. If they cannot be removed from said duel, challenge, dare, or contest, I shall take their place.

Everyone agreed with this one. No one wanted a repeat of the Triwizard tournament, even if Harry survived in both worlds.

They are allowed to finish their seventh and final year of education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, unless the school is under attack or more than thirty percent of the students are being physically harmed by the same force. I am to remain in residency there with them, tutor them, excuse or add them to or from classes if I feel necessary, and ensure their proper care.

I had to stay their final year of school, but I could pick and choose which classes they took. If a bunch of the students were hurt or the school was attacked, I was allowed to take them away.

Truthfully, I probably could have proved Snape was physically harming most of the students with his awful teaching methods, but I didn't bring it up. Yet.

I had something special planned for Umbridge.

I understand they are allowed to visit their family during two weeks of Yule in December, and one week, from Saturday to Sunday, of Easter, in spring. They will spend the day of All Hollows' Eve with me.

Riddle liked to act up during the days of All Hollows', for obvious reasons. I wasn't letting the twins out of my sight when Halloween rolled around, and I'll just consider myself lucky the Weasleys don't know what the Hollows actually mean.

If they break any of the abovementioned agreements, I shall decide and give the punishment.

If I break one of the aforementioned agreements, I shall forfeit use of my magic for one week. If I break a second time, or more than one, then I shall forfeit permanent use of my magic as well as follow the terms agreed at the top of the page.

I was a little worried about my dad; he made laws, so how could he not see all the loopholes in this? Or Dumbledore, for that matter? Did they just think I was choosing the words and not understanding what they meant?

Bill, who had been silently watching me during this entire exchange, whistled as he looked over the contract again.

"Blimey, George, you better make sure they're the best students in Hogwarts or you're in trouble."

I grinned at him loosely. "They'll learn."

He shook his head in amazement. "You know, I should warn you; you hurt a hair on their heads, and I'll—"

"Yeah," I said softly. "If you hurt me at all, Bill Weasley will have a whole lot to say about that too."

He looked at me for a long moment, and turned away quietly. I didn't mean to hurt his feelings; Bill was one of my favorite brothers; but I wanted him to understand. Even if his face was still intact and he didn't have a habit of eating raw meat, this Bill would do anything to protect his siblings.

I rubbed my hands together, feeling much rejuvenated after signing with a blood quill [nasty things] that both twins were safely in my possession.

"Shall we tell them, then?"

Mum called all the kids to join us in the kitchen. I hid in the corner behind a cabinet so I could step out and scare them at the opportune moment. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that they couldn't see me from my current hidey spot. Everyone was giving me funny looks, except Snape, who was ignoring me; Dumbledore, who simply smiled; and Bill, who knew what I was doing.

Harry entered first, looking exactly like he had when he was fifteen. Hermione and Ron came next, and then—

Several dishes shattered, causing everyone to duck and several to shriek.

"George!" Mum reprimanded.

"It wasn't me!" my alternate self protested, staring wide-eyed at the ceramic shards from his position next to Mini-Fred.

"Not you."

The kids looked confused.

"But you said…" Ron started, showing off a large chunk of something green in his teeth. Gross.

"About that," Bill coughed, drawing the attention to him. "You see, Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea to have some back up in the war."

The kids just stared at him.

"He used an old spell to summon a hero from another world."

They still stared at him.

"It was supposed to be you, Harry."

Mini-Harry looked offended. "I don't need another me! Why wasn't I asked about this? No one tells me anything!" He was literally steaming; he must have just arrived from the Dursleys.

"Wait," Hermione held up a hand. "It was supposed to be Harry?"

Realization dawned on Little-George and Little-Fred. The trio was still staring mostly slack jawed [or glaring] at the Order.

I cleared my throat reluctantly and raised my head up over the cabinet, causing them all to jump.

"Kiddos. Junior."

Mini-Me looked offended. "Don't call me that! Blimey, what happened to you, mate?"

The five of them were staring at me in shock.

I shrugged casually, frantically throwing up extra Occlumency shields. The cabinet I was hiding behind wobbled. A rather large part of me really wanted to hunker down behind the cabinet and not come out ever again, but I cleared my throat (again). Might as well get it over with quickly.

"Fred. Been a while."

Fred [at least I thought it was Fred. We really did look alike] blinked and looked confused. "Why? What happened to me?"

Hermione gasped, and I thought she had realized about Fred until she started babbling. "This is incredible! Are you really from another world? What's it like there? Are things similar? What's different? What are you here for? What spell was used? Will you be going back? Will anyone else be coming? How—"

Unwilling to face the stream of questions, I silenced her with a flick of my finger.

"Hey!" Ron waved a hand in front of her still-talking-yet-silent mouth. "Hermione! What did you to her?!"

I shrugged, stepped out from behind the cabinet, and leaned against it. A glass of water on the table cracked and sprung a leak, but otherwise nothing happened. "Just silenced her, Ronniekins."

He grinned at me warily. "Good for you. Never would've gotten a word in otherwise."

"I know. It would be a bit awkward if George Weasley didn't know his own sister-in-law." I appeared to have rediscovered my old habit of speaking about myself in the third person. Oh well.

Hermione stopped jabbering silently, and the trio's jaws dropped in shocked unison.

"I knew it!" Mini-Me said triumphantly. "Pay up, Fred!"

My heart skipped a beat, remembering when Fred and I had made that very same bet. He'd never had the chance to pay up.

"Ron?" Harry asked dumbly. "And Hermione? Married?"

"With two kids," I answered, thinking fondly of my niece and nephew. Mum shrieked in utter joy. "Rose and Hugo. Nice kids. Hugo's a bit boring, but Rose is fun."

Hermione and Ron's jaws moved up and down silently. I didn't even have to silence Ron.

"As for your questions, Hermione; yes, not too bad, yes, dunno, to kill Riddle, not sure, no, and no."

Everyone in the room stared at me.

"You know, from the way you all keep staring at me, I'm either the most handsome man on the planet or you've never had an otherworldly visitor before. I'm going to go with the first answer."

Mini-Me snorted. "Sure, mate. Go for it. How'd you lose the ear?"

I jerked my head towards Snape, a small, wry smile on my face. "Ask him."

All the red heads in the room, as well as most everyone else, turned to gawp at Snape. Mum puffed up her fairly giant chest, ready for a shouting match, and the twins started ruffling through their pockets.

"He saved my life," I finished, somewhat unwillingly. It would have been fun to watch Mum and the twins rip into Snape, but I wanted to deal with him myself.

Everyone swiveled back to me.

Snape grunted in surprise.

Dumbledore smiled, and his eyes Twinkled TM. "I'm so glad Severus was able to prove his loyalty." Seriously? Cutting off my ear proved his loyalty? Okay, maybe I hadn't been very clear, but still.

I glared at him. "He was on no one's side but his own. If he comes near me or the twins this time 'round, I'll skin him. That clear?"

Snape paled again, and everyone stared at me.

Dumbledore's Tinkle™ dimmed. "George, there is no reason for—"

"I really will," I promised, reaching casually into my pocket and smoothly pulling out my knife. "It doesn't have to be quick, but I promise it'll be messy. Questions?"

Snape's eyes started to roll back in his head, but he shook himself and apparated out of the room. I shook my head disappointedly; who did he think he was dealing with? A twist of my fingers and a whispered word brought him right back to me with a nasty, painful sounding pop. He landed on the floor, unconscious.

The twins and Ron looked green. Hermione turned white, but I was pleased to see that Harry was looking particularly pleased. Dumbledore, of course, wasn't going to stand for it.

"George," he said sternly. "There was no reason to do that to Professor Snape."

Was he wondering how I had reversed the apparation? Merlin, I hoped he didn't figure it out. That would be awkward.

"Yes, there was," I argued, plopping down onto a chair and tossing my knife up and down. All my nervousness about seeing the twins had vanished. Merlin; I really had gone mad after Fred, hadn't I? I thought it was just Skeeter being her usual charming self.

"Er…" Little-Me looked like he desperately wanted to say something. Odd. It wasn't really like me to keep my mouth shut.

"Yeah?" I prompted him.

"Would you really skin Snape?" he asked.

I was both affronted and insulted. "'Course I would! What, do you think I won't follow through on a promise?"

He quickly tried to mollify me. "No, that's not it—"

"Then you think I couldn't do it?"

"That's exactly what I think!" he paused. "I mean, I couldn't do it."

"Don't worry," I told him. "I can teach you, if you want. It's really not that hard. Just make a couple slits—"

He turned white. "Just asking!"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to." I slid off the chair. "Anyone know if there's a real estate pamphlet lying around?"

Mum gasped. "You can't be thinking of moving out already!" She sounded close to tears. What was wrong about me skinning Snape? He deserved it, and she herself had threatened to several times after the war, and would have if he'd been alive. Was she upset that the twins would be living with me? She had agreed to it the first time. Speaking of, someone should probably tell them soon…

I was starting to see some of the differences in our worlds. Mine had survived a war, just barely. Theirs hadn't even started.


	2. I Terrorize the Ministry

Moody was staring at me.

That in itself wasn't a surprise; I was a (albeit kidnapped) visitor from another world who was clearly very dangerous and very insane. I had already proven that if I disliked someone and they got in my way, I would remove them. Painfully.

It wasn't even surprising that he'd been staring at me for three hours. What was strange was that he hadn't pulled his wand on me and attempted to shove veritaserum down my throat yet. Then again, he might have thought it not worth losing another limb or three.

Another surprising thing was that he wasn't actually staring at me, per se, but my younger, alternate, Fredded self.

Mini-Me had been fidgeting under Moody's gaze for quite a while, ever since he realized he was being watched by the old ex-Auror. I had been switching my gaze from the several real estate pamphlets in front of me to the scene before me. The twins were working on things for the shop, and occasionally pestering me with questions about the future alternate world I had come from.

Moody kept staring. When was Mini-Me going to speak up? Honestly. I had never been that quiet at that age.

I cleared my throat. All three of them, Moody, Fred, and Mini-Me, jumped, making me snigger.

Moody scowled at me. "Decide where you want yet, Weasley?"

I tapped one of the pamphlets against my chin as I feigned thoughtfulness. There was no way in Dumbles' fluffy beard I was picking a wizard home. No one would expect a wizard worth his wand to live in an actual Muggle home, no matter how I warded it. Moody didn't know that, of course. "Perhaps, Mad Eye, perhaps."

His scowl deepened.

"You know, if you don't trust me, you could just say so. You don't have to take it out on Junior."

Mini-Me stiffened. "I said to stop calling me that!"

Fred nudged his shoulder playfully. "It's you. He won't."

Moody's scowl deepened even more. He looked ready to explode. Just a few more seconds…

"How'd I die?" He practically spat it out.

I slowly set the pamphlets back down. I had been waiting for him to ask. His paranoia practically demanded it. "You think you died?"

He snorted. "'Course I did. I'm old. I can't handle another war, and yeh said yerself almost everyone was killed."

I nodded. It was true. Of course, the night Moody died was also the night I lost my ear. I didn't like thinking about that any more than I did thinking about Fred's funeral, but Moody should know.

Maybe it would make him shorten those insane broom rides of his.

"It was almost Harry's seventeenth birthday," I said carefully, eyeing the twins who were suddenly paying very close attention. "We were taking him to the Burrow so he wouldn't be at the Dursleys when Lily's blood wards fell. Fourteen of us were there; six of us took polyjuice, so there were seven Potters flying around. We were flying across England on broomsticks at night, being chased by Death Eaters."

"You were flying across England at night on broomsticks?" Moody asked skeptically. "Whose stupid idea was that?"

I titled my head as I tried to remember. "Snape, I think. But you're the one who made us do it."

His face was a perfect picture of shocked disbelief and complete horror. "I died because I listened to Snape? No wonder!"

"That's also the battle I lost my ear, since I'm sure the twins here are dying to know."

Mini-Me flinched. He kept doing that every time I mentioned something happening to me or Fred in the war. Speaking of, I hadn't told them Fred was dead yet.

Oops.

Someone should probably tell them about the apprenticeships too.

I tossed the pamphlet onto the stack, leaned back, and crossed my feet on top of the table. "Fred? Junior?"

Mini-Me refused to look at me [defiant teenagers], but Fred [notminedon'tthinknotmine] glanced at me.

"Yeah?"

I uncrossed my feet, and crossed them again, unsure how to start. It was a strange feeling. I always knew what to do. That, or at least how to bluff my way out. I cleared my throat and started again. By this time I had all three of their attentions.

"I told you about the Last Battle?"

Both Mini-Me and Fred frowned.

"You said Harry crushed You-Know—"

I interrupted Fred. "Riddle."

He shot me a nasty look. "You said Harry crushed Riddle in a massive epic smack down for the sake of the planet."

That was true. I had told them that, and the Harry/Riddle showdown had been quite epic. Although it was fairly embarrassing that a simple disarming jinx took down the dark lord.

I titled the chair back and studied their faces. If the room had been any darker, I doubt I would have been able to tell the two apart. "Lots of people died in that battle, you know."

They both nodded. Moody frowned, apparently realizing what I was planning to do.

I opened my mouth to continue, then paused. "Did Dumbledore do the paperwork?"

Everyone blinked. They reminded me of fish.

"What?" Moody stared at me like I was some strange sort of new species.

"Paperwork," I prompted. "With the Ministry? To make the summoning legal?"

"Summonings are legal?" the twins asked in surprised unison.

I shrugged. "Only if the paperwork's filled out with the Department of Mysteries."

"Errr…" Moody stared at me like I'd lost my mind, which I supposed I had. "No, lad. I don't think he did."

I frowned. "I'm not legal?"

"No…?"

"Damn. Now I'm going to have to make an extra trip." I'd needed to go to the Ministry anyway, come to think of it.

"Wait!" Mini-Me jumped up. "Before you go."

I waved my hand at the pamphlets, which vanished and rematerialized in my pockets. "Yeah?"

"You were saying something about the Last Battle?"

Oh. Right. On second thought, it might be better if I wasn't here to suffer the backlash of that. "Yeah. 2nd May, 1998. That's the night Fred was killed."

I Dissapparated.

~!~

It was shocking just how low the security was around the Ministry. I could have killed every one of them in minutes and still had time for tea.

I jinxed the guard at the entrance so he kept getting a wedgie. I walked past as he was distracted with his hand shoved into his robes as he tried to fix his underwear. All the other passerby were staring at him, so I had no reason to do anything to them.

That didn't mean I didn't. That scrawny five year old will be trying to unfreeze his tongue from his nose for a while. His mother should have warned him about making faces at strangers.

I skipped the lift and ran down the dusty, web-covered stairs that no one used now/here and everyone used in my time/world. Did these people have no idea how easy it was to get trapped on a lift? They might not have had the second war yet, but they had lived [or not] through the first one.

Merlin. No wonder so many of us were killed.

Fortunately, the Department of Mysteries was much as I remembered: a large, circular room made out of obsidian with sealed, handle-less doors. No one stopped me as I strode into the center of the room. No one was there at all, in fact.

I stopped in the center of the room and planted my feet shoulder-width apart. I held out Fred's wand in my right hand. If I remembered correctly, there was a fairly easy way to find the offices…

A silent diffindo made a shallow slice across my left palm. I closed my fingers in a fist, and dark red blood dripped onto the floor, squeezing and leaking out from between my fingers. The resulting sting from the cut felt reassuring. It was good to know I could still feel something on occasion.

My blood dripped onto the floor. Only three drops were needed, but a few more wouldn't hurt.

"Show me," I whispered. The doors rotated slowly with a quiet, creaking groan until they stopped. Rather suddenly, too, I thought. I strolled over to the one directly in front of me and strode inside, not bothering to nock. My hand was still dripping blood.

Neville's uncle, Algernon Croaker, the Head of the Unspeakables, jumped to his feet and pulled his wand out seconds after I put Fred's away. "Wha-? Who the hell are you?!"

I waved my bleeding hand nonchalantly, spattering red droplets everywhere. "Someone summoned me from an alternate universe, incorrectly, I might add, and forgot to fill out the paperwork. I came here to do it for them."

He didn't relax. "Oh?"

Usually, protocol dictates that anyone who wants to do something that needs paperwork from the Department of Mysteries needs a full interview complete with veritaserum. I didn't want that, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out my bigger-on-the-inside-thanks-to-Hermione wallet. "The packets are six hundred galleons each, right?"

Of course they weren't. They were about three. Croaker didn't know I knew that, though, and I figured the idiot who would drop a child out a window would jump at the chance for six hundred galleons.

I was right.

Besides, I was rich. I could spare a few thousand galleons and not notice they were missing.

"Six hundred fifty," he said, his gray eyes practically glowing with greed as he bluffed. "Alternate reality, you said?"

"Yeah. And I need a 1507, too."

His eyes widened. "A 1507?"

I heaved a sigh. Did no one listen here? "Yes, a 1507. 'Permission for World-Saving Murder' Sheet. That's the same cost, right?"

If I really was going to kill Riddle, I might as well make that legal, too. If I made a big deal out of everything being legal, then the Order wouldn't question me when strange things started happening.

Croaker spluttered.

"Right." I poured the money out onto his desk. The gleam and size of his eyes grew with every clink and coin. "That enough?"

"Anything else, sir?"

"Yeah. They forgot to summon my familiar. I want the tools for that. They're so hard to find nowadays, you know?" As if. I only needed three things, and I had all of them. Well, maybe not the compass…

"There's always the Black Market," he said, nodding his head as he started ruffling through his desk. I wasn't sure if he meant the tools or familiars. "But I have everything here. Tell you what, as a favor for you doing everything legally, I'll give 'em to you free."

Seemed he was worried I might realize he was cheating me.

"I'd appreciate that."

"And something for your hand?"

I looked down to where my blood was still dripping onto the obsidian floor. "No, I'm good."

The Unspeakable didn't look so certain. He was probably worried about it staining. "You sure?"

I opened and closed my hand, watching as more blood flowed from the wound. I willed it to close. It did so, much to the shock of poor Croaker.

"I'll just…get you that paperwork, then. Sir."

~!~

The Unspeakables' waiting room wasn't very welcoming. There were no seats, and it was freezing cold. It looked very much like a miniature version of the entrance room with only two doors.

I felt I had valid reason to redecorate.

Croaker came to a screeching halt when he reentered the room and saw the immensely fluffy, skull shaped armchairs that may or may not have actually been enlarged-beanbags-that-would-give-you-blue-freckles-if-you-sat-in-them in disguise. There was an indented shelf along the ceiling which held rows of alternately flaming green and orange skulls. The walls and floor were still obsidian, as that was a pain in the neck to completely transfigure, but the walls were completely smooth and the floor appeared to be tiled.

"You…" he appeared to be at a loss for words.

"Me?" I feigned innocence. "This wasn't me. It was that blonde Unspeakable who came through just a minute ago. Said you'd hired him for this."

Croaker spluttered again. "No Unspeakable would ever do this!" He paused for a moment, thinking. "There are no blonde Unspeakables!"

Birds, meet stone. "I think he said his name was Malloy. Mallory? Mafey. No, wait…"

"Malfoy?!" Croaker gnashed his teeth. "I see." He shoved a brown bag at me. "Your things."

I opened it and took a peek inside. Perfect.

I dissaparated, which isn't supposed to be possible inside the Ministry. Especially inside the Department of Mysteries.

I only wished I could have seen the look on Croaker's face.

~!~

I found a very nice three-story house in the country side. It had a small attic and a damp basement, and every single room smelled like dust. The house itself came with forty acres of land.

Perfect.

The elderly Muggle couple I liberated it from would just have to spend the rest of their days living it up in the Bahamas. I had bought them a very nice condo; they should appreciate it, and if they were a bit disoriented for a few days from the memory charms, well...

I stashed the things from Croaker inside, and got to work on the wards. I didn't have time to do anything fancy, but I needed some security. Between my inventiveness and Bill's teaching, my wards were unique, humiliating, and dangerous.

First was the Keep-Away Ward, which worked on both Muggles and wizards. I made three and intertwined them together, then added a few defenses behind each of them incase one or more fell. A few backup defenses were put in behind the defenses. No use being stingy.

I'd add some more later.

The second set of wards I put up tied to the house itself. Everyone [me] and everything in it [not much at the moment] was keyed to those wards. That didn't mean my things could walk up and leave as they pleased. It meant everything in the house and property was accounted for, and the wards would activate if something wasn't. At first glance it looked like a sort of anti-theft ward, but it also let the wards know if something was there that wasn't supposed to be.

Only I could add or remove items [or people].

The third thing I did was to tie that second ward directly to me. Now I'd know not only exactly what everything in the house/property was and where it was, I'd also know everyone who was there, where they were, and whether or not they had been invited.

Bill had warned me that having that much information inside your head at once would make someone mad, but it hadn't bothered me when I did it to the flat and shop. I had learned to push it in the back of my head, so the only time I really noticed was when something was very wrong.

I could also forcibly make unwanted guests portkey either back out through the wards or anywhere inside the wards. Since the basement was already wet, I enlarged it, filled it with icy cold saltwater, and transfigured some nearby sticks and stones into jellyfish and crabs.

I'd get some real ones later.

…Which reminded me about a nice little pond a mile or so up the slope. If I filled it with saltwater and enlarged it, it would make a good shark home.

I'd get to that later. I had some decorating to do.

~!~

Hours later, I put my wands away and wiped the sweat off my forehead. The house looked far more like something I would live in. The walls had been painted in a rainbow of colors sure to hurt everyone's eyes, and most of the doorways and windows now had very odd shapes. The color collage had been accomplished by randomly pointing and shooting off a color-changing spell. The flooring, to my grief, was fairly normal, because I would not risk slipping while dueling or experimenting. For my future workroom I had transfigured the previously pink carpet into gray stone tiles, which was less likely to soak up spilled potions.

I glanced out the window. The sun was peeking over a nearby hill.

Oh dear. That meant two nights without sleep, now. I'd been busy the first night, back in my world, because I had been working on my potion, and last night had been whittled away with amateurish home decorating.

I yawned into the crook of my arm. I couldn't go to sleep now. I had more work to do. Speaking of which…

I sat down in a quickly conjured chair in the kitchen and dumped the contents of Croaker's bag on a quickly conjured table. I pushed the familiar-summoning tools, few there were, across the table, and grabbed the papers.

What had Dumbledore been thinking, summoning me illegally? If I remembered correctly, he was already out of the game politically (which was good), and the only position he had left, publicly, was Hogwarts (which was not good). This could get him sent to Azkaban…not that that would bother him.

I summoned a quill from…well, one of my pockets, and started initialing and signing where needed. I went through about thirty pages before I finally reached the end.

Summonings were a hard business.

The 1507 was easy. All I had to do was say who I wanted to kill (Tom Marvelo Riddle, AKA Voldemort), why (he was a madman who wanted the world on a platter, and he'd killed some of my family on top of it), and why the Ministry should let me (he'd caused them problems before, and even if he was truly dead (which he wasn't) it couldn't hurt to let me try (yeah right)).

I glanced over at the familiar-summoning tools. They were similar to what I'd suppose Dumbledore had used, but the ritual wasn't near as difficult, since a familiar could find their bonded anywhere. Mine in particular could probably get here by himself, but last I had heard he'd been visiting Fleur's relatives, and he did have a thing for transformed Veelas…

With the summoning, my familiar would get here whether he liked it or not. I figured he'd be angry with me for a bit, but once he heard the available options, he'd be crowing like a chicken.

~!~

Croaker pulled his wand on me the second I walked into his office.

"What're you doing here again?!"

I slapped the papers on his desk. "Dropping these off. Don't have an owl at the moment. You?"

He stowed his wand stiffly, and glared at me. "How'd you do that yesterday?"

"Do what?" What I had done yesterday? Many things. To which one he was referring to, I wasn't sure.

"You Dissapparated straight out of here!"

Oh. That. Time to lie. "Oh, that. Yeah, I lent a portkey from my summoner. Sorry 'bout that."

The Unspeakable visibly relaxed. "Oh. Of course. Sorry about that. It's just that security's so tight…"

"Of course it is." I pretended to agree with him. "Anything else?"

His eyes shifted slyly. "I realized we didn't introduce ourselves. I'm Algernon Croaker."

Ah. He wanted to know who I was. Well, it wouldn't hurt to have word out that there were two George Weasleys running around. In fact, it would certainly piss off Dumbles, and that wouldn't hurt at all.

"George Weasley."

He made a small jerk of surprise, but offered his hand, which I shook somewhat suspiciously.

"Good day then!"

~!~

I made several shops around both Diagon Alley and Muggle London. I needed more things for my house, after all. Clothes were probably necessary as well.

I avoided Gringotts like the plague. I didn't trust the goblins. All my gold was kept in the safest place I could find: my pockets. I had a few spare stores stashed in warded areas in the flat, which I assumed Angelina would use for the kids now that I was gone, but they only held a couple thousand galleons each.

I hadn't been kidding when I told the Order I was rich. I was more loaded then Malfoy. Of course, it wasn't all from the shop. With the Ministry being so small, lots of people had started subtly enchanting items and selling them to Muggles. Dad's department had actually gotten things under control pretty quick.

I still can't believe Dad actually made it legal. The few guidelines he made were easy enough to follow. I think he fined maybe two people a year for breaking them. Even Malfoy had gotten in on the gig, once he realized exactly how decimated our numbers were.

I somehow finished all the shopping and ordering by six. I suppose that's what happens when one starts the day at dawn.

Since I didn't feel like cooking or going back to Grimmauld Place, I stopped by the Cauldron for a quick bite to eat.

Tom brought me a sandwich and a glass of firewhiskey. Merlin knew I needed the alcohol.

"You seem familiar, mate," he said, eyeing me up. "But I don' remember yer face 'round here afore."

I downed the glass in a large gulp, enjoying the long-familiar burn in my throat. I grinned at him loosely. "No? Well, that's to be expected. Some idiot summoned here from another world. I'm just getting settled in."

All noise stopped as all eyes turned towards me and the old bartender.

Tom stared at me. "Another world? Haven't ever served no one from another world afore."

"I'm not surprised. It doesn't happen often."

"Does the Ministry know?"

"Oh, sure."

His face blanched in shock, and several people in the room gasped.

I grinned at him again. "Just finished the paperwork with the Department of Mysteries this morning."

Tom's face was a strange mix of white, pink, and dirt. "The Department o' Mysteries? So that's what they do down there, summon people like you?"

I shook my head and picked up my sandwich. It looked like some kind of turkey. "Not usually. They just provide the paperwork. The Ministry will let you do just about anything, so long as you let them know and pay them enough. In this case, my summoner seemed to forget that and did it illegally. I don't want to get carted off as an illegal alien, so I did it myself."

"Right." He watched me eat for a few moments. "If this is a'nuther world, do you exist here too?"

I swallowed a bite. It was a good sandwich, even better than the ones in my world. Maybe I was just hungry; it had been almost two days since I'd last eaten. "George Weasley."

Several things happened at once, all of which I took great delight in. Tom teetered backward, a few witches and the odd wizard or two in the back shrieked and fainted, and everyone else just kept on staring at me.

Was that a beetle I saw on Tom's apron?

"G-George W-W-Weasley?" the poor man stuttered.

"That's me." I titled my empty glass towards him. He took the hint and filled it up.

"Who summoned yeh 'ere, then?"

I could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he pondered the bragging benefits of having a grown-up Weasley twin from another world sitting at his bar drinking a large amount of firewhiskey and eating all his turkey sandwiches.

I took another swig from my glass. The Ministry hadn't specified whether or not I was supposed to tell others details of my summoning, so I decided to go for it.

At least Skeeter would appreciate it.

"Dumbledore," I answered.

"Dumbledore?" an old wizened wizard sitting at the middle table asked. "Why?"

"Wants a proper hero to off Riddle," I answered. "Thinks Harry's too young, and for once, he's right."

Everyone leaned forward.

"Who's Riddle?" Tom asked excitedly, leaning over the counter.

"Tom Marvelo Riddle. Hypocritical half-blooded heir of Slytherin who goes around calling himself He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." I finished my sandwich, and ignored the gasps. "Don't see why. What if someone doesn't know who he is?"

Tom took a step back, looking decidedly worried. Probably about my sanity; everyone always wondered about my sanity. "Er…"

I faked a glance at my watches. "Good talk, but I really must be going. If anyone's interested in details, I've been looking for a Rita Skeeter. If she's anything like the one I'm used to, the interview should be pretty interesting. I'll see you later, Tom."

I plopped down a handful of Galleons [rather too many for the meal, but I was a fan of over-tipping] and Apparated home. Skeeter should be trying to owl soon, if that really was her and not just some random beetle flying around the Alley.

~!~

The moment I appeared, my new wards started going berserk. There was some sort of advanced tracking charm on me.

I contemplated just canceling it, but I couldn't recall having been around anyone today who knew that sort of charm. I closed my eyes and reached a little deeper into my connection with the wards; dangerous and tricky, since they were so new and unfamiliar.

It paid off. I was rewarded with hearing a loud splash and a high-pitched scream from below as the intruder was yanked into the basement. My transfigured rock collection would keep him busy for a while. The wards had sent his wand to my would-be workroom.

That was good. I didn't want my prisoner escaping. I might be forced to do something rash.

~!~

"Ahhh…Croaker, my friend!" I cried gleefully as I peered into the blob-filled water. It was only six feet deep, since the basement was only about nine feet deep and I needed some room for me to crouch on the stairs, but Croaker wasn't past five seven.

The foolish, unfortunate man was covered in bluish and pink blobs of jelly. A large crab was clamped onto his nose. He was barely keeping himself on his tiptoes.

"Weasley!" he croaked. "Get me out of here!"

I wagged a finger at him. "Not so fast, Algie. You're the one who placed a tracking charm on me."

His voice cracked. "I just needed to know where yeh were going! I swear! Ministry business!"

"Or personal curiosity?" I wondered idly. "Either way, someone needs to be punished. How about I drop you out a window? Or off a dock? You sure are fond of dropping people off things."

He spluttered as water and jellies sloshed into his mouth. "How'd you know 'bout that?"

"I happen to be a good friend of your alternate nephew."

I was in a bit of a tight spot tight here. There was no way on this Earth or the other I was going to just let him go. Croaker had tried tracking me, and I couldn't allow that. In all honesty, I should have checked myself for charms right after leaving the Ministry. I'd checked the sales clerks at all the stores, and the food at the Leaky, but I'd forgotten myself. How could I have been so risky?

The problem was, I had nowhere to put him at the moment. I supposed I could just leave him in the Jelly Basement for a bit while I fixed up another room. Yeah, that sounded good.

Croaker was still babbling about how it was part of his job to track other-worldly visitors and whatnot, but he stopped immediately when he found Fred's wand pointed in his direction.

"You're going to stay here for bit, my friend, while I go arrange less comfortable quarters for an unwelcome guest such as yourself," I told him, mildly enjoying the look of distress which crept over his unshaved face. "Don't worry, it won't be that long."

And it wasn't.

It took me maybe an hour to make a second basement below the Jelly Basement. This one could only be accessed through my workroom, unless someone happened to land in the jellyfish. I spent a lot of time equipping it, maybe about forty minutes, although it was nowhere near what I'd have liked it to be.

I really missed the flat above the shop. Freddie and I had had spent months equipping the family interrogation room. It had been a real work of art, that. We hadn't needed to worry about shoplifters ever since.

I put five stone cells with iron bars along one wall, various interrogation equipment along the other, and a large oak table in the middle of the room. The lighting was superb, as I needed to be able to see clearly when I was working on people. It was not good to accidentally kill a guest with vital information because I was too foolish to put in proper lighting.

I was arranging my knives when I remembered the gatecrasher. I whispered a few words, and the wards materialized him onto the table. Zip ties fastened around him with no words necessary.

Croaker stopped screaming at once and immediately started wriggling. Or maybe that was just his hypothermia. "What are these things?" he shrilled. "What are you doing? You can't do this to me! I'm an Unspeakable! A Ministry official!"

I picked up a bottle of veritaserum I had placed on a shelf and examined it. I had a few more in my pockets somewhere, but this one was only about three years old and I didn't need it on me. "They're zip ties. Muggle things. I've found they work very well. Near damn impossible to get out of."

"What are you doing?!" He didn't stop struggling, but the ties kept him secure.

"Wondering whether I should waste a perfectly good truth potion on you or dirty my knives," I lied.

The Unspeakable froze. "You wouldn't. That's illegal! I…I thought you said you were a friend of my nephew's?"

"The one you dropped out of a window?"

He didn't respond.

I walked over, the potion in one hand and a knife in the other. "Why don't you decide?"

~!~

Croaker had put the tracking charm on me because he wanted to know where I was going. He hadn't written up a report, and he hadn't told anyone. Since he happened to be nothing more than an unusually large rock at the moment, I highly doubted he'd ever tell anyone.

Oh, and he'd sent someone after Malfoy to demand details of the 'vandalism'.

I was whistling a whimsical tune as I apparated to Grimmauld Place. It was around twelve by now, and I assumed everyone would be asleep.

The moment I popped in I was assaulted by red heads, fluffy beards, and peg legs. Odd, since everyone but Mad Eye and Dumbledore would normally have been sleeping. The kids weren't there, but almost every Order member was.

"George! Where have you been?"

"Why did you tell the twins Fred died?!"

"What did yeh mean 'bout things bein' legal?"

"My boy, I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't run off again…"

I dissaparated and reappeared in the twins' room, making both of them jump with little squeaks.

"When did you get here?" Fred demanded.

They were sitting, curled up under the blankets, on the same bed. George was clutching Fred like a lifeline, and both twins had heavy bags under their defiant eyes. The dim light from a lumos cast deep shadows on their faces.

I hopped backwards onto the empty bed and crossed my legs. "Sorry 'bout earlier."

Their ears turned red.

"Sorry?" Mini-Me's tone was dangerously low. "Sorry?! You told us Fred died, and then left!"

I shrugged, not really feeling guilty. "Would you have rather I'd stayed?"

"I'd rather have gotten a straight answer!"

"You never asked a direct question. You sure you want details?" I fixed my eyes on both their gazes. "I wasn't even there. I heard it second hand from Ron and Harry. Do you really want me to tell you anything else?"

Their eyes lowered and they shifted uncomfortably.

My voice dropped to almost a whisper. "It wasn't you, Fred. He was my twin. He had the same name, the same face, probably the same memories. But he wasn't you, and you won't become him."

"Why not?" It was George this time.

I turned to look out the window. The sky was clear, but it was raining. Whether that was because of me again or just a random star shower, I truly didn't know. It could have been the twins. Maybe it had been raining at Grimmauld for two days.

"We were four years older than you two are now when Fred was killed. A lot can change in four years."

They looked back up.

"That's why you're staying, aren't you?" Mini-Me asked. "Not to stop You-Know—Riddle, but to make sure we both make it this time."

I shrugged. "Don't let Dumbledore know. I have a feeling he wouldn't approve." Not to mention I'd rather let Fred die all over again than trust the old bastard.

The twins grinned at me, and although I doubted anyone else would be able to tell they'd been crying, I knew myself and Fred like—well, like myself and my twin.

"Tell you what. Dumbles forgot to bring my familiar, so when I stopped by the Ministry today I got the proper tools. What do you think?"

~!~

It didn't take long to quiet Mum down. A few tears and rushed explanations that were spoken too quickly to understand had her concentrating on stopping her own waterworks. The twins looked amazed that they'd been shown a way to halt Mum in her tracks without her even realizing it.

And no. I didn't feel guilty. Mum hadn't realized any of us were grown up until Harry offed Riddle and Fred died. I'd be damned if I was going to wait another four years, or however long it took.

"Right!" I said, standing up to examine my circle. A familiar-summoning circle was much easier to make and use than the kind Dumbledore had somehow found and used on me. Most people shied away from using one even for the rare times when their familiars wandered off because the circle had to be drawn in the caster's blood.

I wondered whose blood Dumbledore had used for me.

"As you can see," I explained to all five kids and the assembled order, whom I had woken up and demanded to play audience, "I've used a chalk base to make the circle, then I drew it in my blood. Any thoughts on why it has to be mine? Potter!"

Harry jumped. "Um…"

"Wrong! Try again!" I'd thought he would understand more about blood after the ritual with Riddle. Guess not.

Ron leaned over to his friend. "Blimey, he's as bad as Moody."

"Ronald! For that little comment, you can answer."

Ron turned pale as Harry and the twins snickered. "Er…'cause it's your circle?"

I frowned in disappointment. "No. Because it's my familiar."

Hermione was trying to reach the ceiling. I ignored the strange quirks of my alternate future-sister-in-law and turned back to the class.

"I've drawn up the basic calling runes around the edges—see them there? The repeating ones? There's only three, but they need to be very precise or the whole thing will blow up. I've also—"

"Mr. Weasley!" Hermione was still trying to reach the ceiling.

"Yeah? What do you want, Granger?"

She blushed. "No offense meant, George, but why couldn't you just get another owl here?"

I titled my head, confused. "What? My familiar's not an owl. I'll get an owl if I need post delivered, thanks. I tried bonding with owls a few times, but it never worked out."

Mum and Dumbledore were making very noticeable quieting movements behind the silencing wards I had placed around the Order.

"So a pet's not a familiar?" Harry sounded confused.

I stared at them all for a moment, than wacked myself on the forehead. "Of course! I forgot Hogwarts doesn't teach that! Very good question, Potter. Sorry 'bout that, Hermione, didn't know what you meant. No, a familiar is an animal, sometimes magical, sometimes not, who has literally bonded to your soul."

They all looked suitably impressed, even a little scared.

"Your soul?" Hermione asked, her voice high and squeaky.

I nodded. "They live only as long as you do, so if it's a magical animal, they're normally giving up quite bit. Of course, you also adapt quite a bit of their powers as well. Obviously it doesn't always end up well."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked. "If you got some of their powers, wouldn't that make you stronger?"

"Depends. I once heard of someone who bonded to a nundu. They supposedly lived in a bubble to keep the poisonous breath away before giving up and going to live in the jungle. I actually met a fellow once who happened to bond to a malaclaw. Talk about bad luck," I joked.

Hermione gasped. "A malaclaw? But they bring bad fortune! Did he—"

"Yep."

She gasped again.

I continued on. "Everyone he touched had bad luck like you wouldn't believe for at least a week."

Everyone, even people like Dumbledore and Bill, who were already aware of familiars, took a step away from me.

"Oh, come on," I scoffed. "I've been here two days and nothing has happened!"

"Is your familiar magical?" Ron asked, rubbing his eyes.

"You'll have to wait and find out, Ronniekins. Now, where was I? Oh yeah. When you meet your familiar, there's a sort of…tingling along your skin. It can be real faint if someone's suppressed it or the like, but it'll always be there. Mind you, you can choose not to complete the bond. I haven't heard of someone ever not doing it, though."

I turned back to the circle and gestured at some of the markings. "Anyone figure out what these are?"

Hermione's hand was up again.

"Granger."

"They point in the four cardinal directions."

"You figure out why?"

She looked uncertain. "…I—"

"It's to give him directions," I interrupted impatiently. "Now, mine's magical—"

Ron gave a small victory cry.

"—Shut up, Ron—so where I would normally put a sample of all four elements, I only need one." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a box of matches, making my dad beam and my mother huff.

I lit four, and placed them in front of each cardinal marking. "Anyone figure out what he is yet?"

A grin crept upon my face as I watched Dumbledore start to frown.

"No? Anyone? All right then." I stepped back and raised Fred's wand. I closed my eyes and concentrated only on the [somewhat feeble, thanks to Dumbledore's summoning] link to my friend. It was there, thankfully.

I grasped it, and yanked.

I forgot he had been away visiting Fleur's relatives, so Fawkes landed in what had to be a very embarrassing and compromising position on the floor. His feathery arse was in the air, his feathers themselves were covered in sand, and he appeared to be nuzzling thin air, if it was possible to actually nuzzle with a beak.

"Fleur's cousins liked you then?" I grinned at him.

Fawkes' eyes snapped open and his long neck spun to stare at me.

"Crrrk?" he chirped angrily, quickly righting himself and ruffling his feathers so he looked like a red pillow.

"Fawkes!"

Everyone gasped at the phoenix.

"Is that really him?" Harry asked.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Isn't he Dumbledore's familiar?"

Dumbledore found himself the sudden center of attention, much to Fawkes' appreciation.

Then the bird realized who he was. The phoenix went for the kill, and I somehow managed to both grab the angry bird and drop the silencing wards without anyone noticing.

"Ow!" I grappled with Fawkes as he bit and pecked at me. "Stop that, you stupid bird! See if I let you go on vacation again!"

The attention was back to us now.

"Wha-aaat are you doing?" Fred drawled, his lips twitching.

"Ow! What does it look like I'm doing?" I bopped Fawkes on the head and tried to grab his beak. He bit my fingers and refused to let go.

"Uh…" Harry looked like he desperately wanted to ask a question. "Isn't Fawkes Dumbledore's phoenix?"

"No. He's Dumbledore's pet. OW!"

At 'pet', Fawkes spit flame at me. Fire may not injure me, but it still stung!

I sent the enraged bird a very brief summary of what happened. Talking to Fawkes through our link was sort of like a strange mix of telepathy, empathy, and a whole lot of misunderstandings.

He let go of my finger and chirped at me angrily, understanding temporarily tempering his ire.

"Sorry," I whispered, holding out my arm for him to perch on. "Right, everyone, sorry. Where were we?"


	3. Hired Help and Scandalous Skeeters

I had never seen Fawkes so angry.

Obviously the phoenix had a long and complicated [very, very complicated] history with Dumbledore. The man had somehow managed to hide his true nature from the bird ever since he’d saved Fawkes from poachers on a burning day. After Fawkes realized he’d been lied to, he’d never quite trusted his abilities again. After all, phoenixes were supposed to be able to know when people were lying or had dark intentions.

It had been said Fawkes and I bonded because we’d both lost the people most important to us. I think he’d gone a little mad, too.

At the moment, the two of us were enjoying watching Dumbledore squirm.

“Is your bird bonded to my son?” Mum demanded. “Mine, I mean. Not him.” She gestured at me vaguely.

“Thanks, Mum,” I said. “Really feeling the love.”

I was ignored.

“No, Molly, he’s not.” The headmaster looked concerned, but Fawkes [who had spent the past twelve years ‘regaining’ his abilities] seemed confident there was no bond between our alternative selves.

Strange, but possible.

“Fawkes says there’s no bond,” I reassured Mum.

“He’s a bird! He can’t tell if George is bonded.”

I chuckled as Fawkes attempted to growl at her, earning us strange looks from everyone. “Mum, he’s a phoenix. He’d be able to tell if his alternate was bonded to Junior.”

Mini-Me was sitting next to Fred, still holding his brother tightly. He looked up with bleary eyes when he heard me mention him. “Stop calling me that! Mum, can’t we discuss this in the morning?”

Mum inhaled deeply, and looked from me to Fawkes to Junior. She sighed. “All right, yes, go to bed, all of you. We _will_ discuss this in the morning. Along with…something else.”

I figured the twins wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, what with both of them still being so distraught. Since it wouldn’t be missed, I crashed on the other one after applying several locking charms on the door.

~!~

The too-bright sunlight was filtering around two dark blobs in front of me. I groaned, put a hand over my face, and rolled over.

“Get up!” It was one of the twins, from the sound of it.

“Whazimeizzit?”

“Ten! Come on, no one’ll tell us anything unless you’re there!”

A finger poked me in the ribs none too gently. I attempted to bat it away, and missed by at least a mile and thirty seconds.

“Mr. Weasley! We’ve got a bucket of doxy venom here!”

That got me up quick. I flipped over, clutching the sheet tightly, and glared at the twins. “Since when do you call me Mr. Weasley?”

Fred crossed his arms. “What else are we supposed to call you? George is too confusing, and Old-Cranky-George-From-Another-World is a bit of a mouthful.”

I groaned again. “Fine. What time is it?”

“Ten.” Mini-Me hefted a bucket filled with a noxious smelling blue liquid I knew all too well. “Even Bill won’t tell us anything.”

“Fine, fine!” I rolled over and tumbled gracelessly off the bed. “What are we talking about this morning?”

“Mom said it’s something about you and us.”

Oh! That was right. I’d forgotten the twins were my apprentices now. “Oh, right. Do you want me to tell you? No, forget that. I’ll wait.”

They blinked at me.

“Are…you going to change?” Fred asked. “You look kind of—disheveled.”

I looked myself up and down. My clothes didn’t like it when I slept in them. “Really? I think I cut quite a fine figure.”

They both snorted.

“You are,” Mini-Me quickly assured me.

“But Mum’ll explode her cauldron if you show up to breakfast looking like that.”

“We’ve got spare stuff—”

“Bit tattered—”

“But it looks like it should fit you.”

“Will not!” I protested. “I’ve grown quite a bit since I was your age!”

They crossed their arms in unison, and looked down on me patronizingly.

“Fine, fine,” I griped. “Have it your way, then.”

The twins did, indeed, have some spare clothes that fit me. I was a bit shocked that they were actually a little loose on me.

“You’re a whole lot fitter than us,” Fred explained. “Quidditch keeps us in good shape, but we don’t look like that.”

“Thanks.”

“It was a complement! And do you have to wear that jacket? It’s all black and gloomy. You should get a bright green one, or something.”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Mini-Me called.

Harry poked his head in. “The Order’s downstairs waiting. What’s taking so long?”

The twins poked me in the ribs, said, “Ask him!” and dissaparated.

Harry looked at me quickly, then immediately pulled his head back out. Pity, that. I’d been hopeful that the kiddies would be pestering me with questions—I liked feeling wanted. Besides, it would drive Mum mad, given what my answers would probably be like.

~!~

Breakfast was delicious, and for once I didn’t need to make it myself. Eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and a nice cup of coffee (for me, at least. I needed caffeine this early in the morning). Everyone had managed to squeeze into the tiny kitchen again, completely ignoring my advice to simply move the table into a larger room. Mum was bustling around the table, refilling plates, yelling at me and Moody for checking, double checking, and triple checking the food for ill-meant charms or potions, smacking grabby hands, and wiping off the faces of hungry and frustrated children (which would have included me had I not fended her off at wand-point while trying to nick more bacon).

I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed having breakfast with a cheerful family.

When everyone’s stomachs were suitably fit to burst, Mum finally conjured herself up a seat. She smacked Ron one more time when he tried reaching for more pumpkin juice and toast.

Dumbledore turned to me with a smile. It was a friendly enough smile, but the man’s very presence made me want to set him on fire then and there. Fawkes shrilled gleefully at the thought from over on top of a cabinet, where he was watching the proceedings.

“Now that we’ve all finished this wonderful meal—thank you for that, Molly—why doesn’t George tell us all something?

I swallowed the last of my coffee and stared morosely at the tabletop. I really needed more sleep. “Eh? Say what?”

Dad coughed quietly into his hand. “The contract, George. And the living situations?”

I stared sorrowfully into my empty cup. “Yeah, yeah, all right. Fred, Junior, your parents sold your souls to me.”

The trio gasped in horror (what, they actually believed it?), but the twins (who weren’t idiots even in their semi-glorious teenage years) just rolled their eyes.

“No, really,” I said. “We wrote up the contract and everything. Want to see it?”

The smug looks slid off the twins faces as I fished my copy of the contract out of my pocket and tossed it over to them. Fred, sitting closer to me, caught it, and two of them disappeared behind the parchment for a solid four minutes.

They reappeared, looking pale.

“What do you mean by—by _any_ of this?” Mini-Me demanded. “Mum! Dad! You can’t!”

Mum opened her mouth to speak, looking very upset, but Dad raised a hand, stopping her. He sighed. “Boys, we made a deal. In return for being able to keep you safe himself, George agreed to fight You-Know—err, Riddle…for us.”

Fred’s mouth flapped open and shut. “But…we’re safe here!”

“And at Hogwarts!”

“And the Burrow!”

“Fred! George! Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” Dad was looking pained, but resolute. “George knows what all of You-Know—Riddle’s plans are, and he’s clearly a master of magic. He’s agreed not only to keep you both safe, but also to teach you. If you want your shop to go anywhere—” he threw a glance at a fuming Mum, “—then you’ll have to learn a lot more than you think. I am are of your mother’s opinions on this, but I think that, if you prove yourselves up to the task, it might be a possibility.”

The twins stared at him, shock mingled with hope. “You—you mean you’d let us—”

“Do it? Invent, and open a shop—”

“Everything?”

Mum finally realized someone ( _cough-me-cough_ ) had silenced her— _again_. And everyone else in the room besides the twins and Dad.

Dad took a deep breath. “I said if you proved yourselves. I want business plans, trust worthy sponsors, _safe_ inventions. That’s why George is going to be teaching you. He’s owned Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes for years.” He glanced at me. “Right?”

I nodded. “Since I was eighteen. Trust me, you’ll need the help. It took forever to get things straightened out once we realized having a shop was more than just a premise and products.”

The twins gazed at me with something akin to hero-worship.

“Mind you,” I said. “I’m not letting you two slack off. You’re going to be working hard, you’re going to be learning lots, and you’re not going to like most of the safety constrictions of the contract.”

The twins huddled down before the paper again. They reappeared with bright red ears, but didn’t say anything.

“We’ll be leaving sometime this week,” I dropped the silencing charm and looked at Moody. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Brilliant. Now, I’ve got things to do. Why don’t you two start packing? Anything you think you’ll need for the next thirteen years.”

Mum turned on me. “Really! That’s not funny, George. You won’t be keeping them as hermits! ‘Pack everything’ indeed!”

“What?” I went on the defensive. “I wasn’t joking! They’ll be busy from the moment I’m ready to take ‘em in ‘til the moment they graduate Hogwarts! I’m not going to be running around fetching something they forgot to bring, so if they don’t bring it now, they’re out of luck.” I turned to the now flabbergasted twins. “Only pack what you need. I’ll have all the ingredients and things, and we can go shopping for clothing and books later.”

Kingsley and Sirius snorted.

“What?”

Bill coughed. “You do realize what you just said?”

I replayed the orders in my head. I snuck a glance at Mum, who was bright red and fuming. Did this one have a bit of a bigger temper than mine, or just a shorter fuse?

“Right,” I said. “Sorry. Bit confusing, that. I mean, I’ll get necessities. If you’ve got anything special, like books, notes, keepsakes, the like, _that’s_ what you need to pack. All right?”

They nodded somewhat glumly.

“Oi!” I slammed my hand on the table, making everyone jump. “You’re the Weasley twins! I want fun on your faces and pranks in your pockets! Got it?”

“Don’t you mean ‘smiles on your faces’?” Mini-Me asked.

“No. Padfoot, Moony, keep them occupied while I’m gone?”

“Sure,” Sirius said, just as Remus went to protest.

The twins’ eyes grew to the size of Bludgers. I waggled my fingers at them and dissaparated before Dumbledore could talk to me again. Fawkes followed me.

~!~

Home was exactly how I’d left it. That was good, but if the twins were going to be here anytime soon I had a lot more work to do.

All of my wizard clothes, furniture, and accessories had arrived. I set about organizing them all while Fawkes, who’d appeared in a ball of flame moments after I had, sang ditties and hit on the songbirds in the yard. The Muggles things hadn’t come yet, but there weren’t that many of them anyway. Really, it was a pity furniture was one of the things I didn’t carry around in my pockets. Speaking of which…

No. I’d come to that later. I had things to do first.

Thankfully, I am somewhat competent with a wand, so it only took about an hour to get everything organized.

I was standing in the middle of what would be the twins’ room. It wasn’t too big, but it was much larger then what they had at either the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. At the moment, there were two beds, an empty, bigger-on-the-inside wardrobe, two desks, and a large bookshelf, on which I had placed about a dozen books I thought the twins would find useful. I had laid down smooth hardwood flooring (carpet was a pain to get potion stains out of), but otherwise left the room plain. The twins could decorate it themselves.

My workroom was next on the list. I needed that. Thankfully I’d had the foresight to lay down some tiled stone, which would take longer for spilled potions and poorly aimed spells to soak into than if I had used something like wood. Otherwise, the room was empty. I needed to fix that.

I decided to make this one different than the one I had used in the shop, since my resources were much freer now. Lights were placed all around the room. I lined the walls with tables and shelves, assembled a large potions lab in the middle of the room, and even set up a mini greenhouse. A few cages for things like the not-yet-invented pygmy puffs were stacked neatly in a corner.

As I said earlier, I keep everything in my pockets. Not only am I fairly confident that they’re completely safe there, I can also pull things out and use them at any time. The downsides to this are that things aren’t exactly sorted, and there is always a chance I could lose them.

One by one, I slowly took my books out and placed them on the selves. I then promptly secured them with anti-theft wards on said selves. Many anti-theft wards. And a few other charms, the likes of which would have made Madame Pince green with envy.

Feeling much better, I turned a nearby hall closet into a library and put the rest of my books there. Another closet was heavily warded, expanded, and turned into my storeroom. My pockets were quickly becoming much lighter, even with the magical weightless charms on them.

There was a large room on the first floor that the old folks I’d nicked the house from had been using as a storage room. I didn’t need a storage room yet, and decided to leave it empty. I could use it as a training room for the twins.

The last rooms I did were fairly easy. These were the actual guests rooms, where people like Mum and Dad would sleep if they stayed over. There were only five of them (large family, after all), and all I put in each was some carpeting, a bed, and a wardrobe. All entrances to each room were warded to the best of my abilities.

Wards could come in handy.

It was around three in the afternoon now, and while the sky was clear, the wind smelled like rain. Not a surprise, but unwelcome, since I was currently working outside.

In my world everyone had simply relied on Neville and (the retired) Professor Sprout for plants. They had the most fabulous greenhouses in the country. I had never been particularly good at Herbology, and so was in a bit of a conundrum.

My problem? House elves. It was a clear, easy answer. Who could cook and clean while I was busy with the twins? House elves. Who could keep an eye on my potions when I was busy? House elves. Who could take care of the animals I was planning on getting? House elves. Who could care for greenhouses without making all the plants keel over the instant they walked in? Hopefully House elves.

The problem was that I didn’t want House elves. After they’d helped so much at the Last Battle, Hermione had successfully pushed through some laws governing their care. They weren’t free, but they had a necessary amount of food, water, and shelter, and if you were caught mistreating them, the fines were incredible. Those laws weren’t around now. Technically, I could make those elves do whatever I wanted them to, and even I felt a little worried about that.

Power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely.

What I needed was someone who could keep the elves somewhat independent, not pose a security risk, and still do whatever I needed them to do. Someone who knew what it was like to have rights, and who wanted to keep them.

The answer was so blindingly obvious I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it earlier.

“Dobby!”

It was several long moments until the elf appeared. He was wearing his usual collection of many strange hats, mismatched socks, and Ron’s Christmas sweater.

“Mr. Wheezy!” he cried joyfully. He saw me and froze, his huge eyes literally becoming the size of dinner plates.

I knelt down in the grass. “Hi Dobby.”

The elf didn’t move.

“I’m George Weasley. Remember me? Ron’s older brother?”

Dobby slowly lifted a shaking finger. “Y-You? You’s are Mr. Wheezy’s brother? One of the twins?”

I tried not to let my smile turn into a grimace. “Yes, Dobby. I’m not sure if you know, but Dumbledore summoned me from another world to help fight against Ridd—Voldemort.”

The elf gasped at the name. The hero-worship was already starting to show in his eyes.

“I look older because my world already finished the war. I’m grown up, now. Understand?”

Dobby nodded so vigorously it was a wonder his head didn’t fall off.

“Right. As you can see—” I gestured vaguely at the house behind me. “I’ve already gotten a house. The twins from here, Fred and George, the ones you know? They’re going to be my apprentices, so they’ll be living here with me. I need someone to cook and clean, help me in my workroom—I’m an inventor—take care of the greenhouses I hope to get, and also to keep the small menagerie I’m hoping to get.”

“Dobby can do that, sir!” Dobby said, nodding again. Really, how were his hats staying on? “Dobby can be doing that for you, sir!”

“Excellent!” This was going perfectly. Now for some tact. “I understand you want to stay a free elf, Dobby?”

Dobby shook his head. “Dobby be happy to be bonded to good Mr. Wheezy! Dobby just want pay and break—” The poor little elf suddenly looked downcast.

“That sounds reasonable, Dobby. You’ll bond with me and, say, get a galleon an hour with a day off each week?”

Dobby jumped up and down and shrieked with joy. “Oh! Oh, Mr. Wheezey Master Sir! You’s is the greatest bestest master ever!” The elf stopped jumping, and looked decidedly worried. “But that’s far too much, Master Wheezy! Dobby not want _that_ much pay! Oh no! Dobby would be fine with a galleon a month and a day off a year!”

“Not happening,” I told the distraught elf. “Tell you what. A galleon a week and a day off per month?”

Dobby pondered for a moment. Then he said, “The great Master Wheezy is a wonderful master! He’s the best master in—”

“All right!” I let out a laugh and put my hands up in a futile attempt to calm the elf down. “Dobby. First off, no Mr. Wheezy—Weasley. Or Master Weasley. If you don’t want to call me George, then call me Master George or Sir. All right?”

The elf nodded his head submissively, looking much put out.

“When the twins get here, _then_ you can call me Mr.— _Mister!_ —Weasley to keep things clear. All right?”

He nodded again.

“Do you know how to bond? ‘Cause I don’t.”

Dobby perked up. “Yes, Master George! Just say, ‘I accept Dobby the Elf as my elf!’”

I did as he instructed. The only change I felt was a small link in my mind, almost like Fawkes’ link.

“Dobby? Am I supposed to feel the bond?”

The elf looked surprised. “Only the greatest wizards can feel the bond, Master George! You’s truly are—”

“Dobby. What’s it for?”

“It’s so’s I be knowing where you’s are so I can come when you’s call me.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. I had had a brief surge of panic when I first felt the link. “Brilliant. Now, quick question—weren’t you bonded to Dumbledore? I mean, you did work at Hogwarts.”

Dobby shook his head. “No, Master George. Dobby worked at Hogwarts, but Dobby was a free elf! Professor Dumblydore says I’s allowed to bond to who’s ever I want!”

“Great. Dobby, I don’t want you to tell anyone you’re bonded to me.”

Dobby blinked. “Master George?”

“Not unless I tell you to, ok Dobby?”

The elf looked confused, but he nodded.

“Great. Now, I know you’re a very good House elf, Dobby—one of the best.”

Dobby’s smile lit up the whole yard.

“But I have a lot of work that will need to be done, and most of it is very complicated. I need you as my personal elf. Ok?”

“Anything for a friend of Master Harry!” The elf cried. “I mean—anything for Master George!”

I snorted at his slip-up. “Right. I need you to find me a few more elves, all right?”

Dobby looked crestfallen again. “But Dobby—”

“—Is going to have the most important jobs,” I finished coolly. “As I said, you’re going to be my personal elf. I also need someone to keep an eye on the other elves to make sure they’re not working themselves too hard or doing anything to dangerous. I need that to be you, Dobby. Can you do that for me? Find these other elves and make sure they’re safe?”

Dobby’s eyes glistened with tears of joy. He sniffed, trying to hold it in, then jumped towards me in a ball of tears. I grabbed the bawling elf and held him closely, waiting until he was done. Oddly enough, it was exactly like holding Freddie or Roxanne when one of them had stubbed their toe or scraped their knee. Except Dobby was much louder.

“Feeling better?” I asked once he had composed himself.

“Oh yes, Master George! Dobby’s is so sorry for that.”

“No problem, Dobby. Now, I need your help. I need an elf who can cook and clean, an elf who can help with my potion making and experimenting, an elf who can take care of a greenhouse, an elf who can take care of dangerous beasts—and I mean dangerous beasts, Dobby.”

He nodded.

“Then one more elf for the twins. I need them to be free, smart, and loyal. I need them to be very, very good at their jobs, and I need to be able to trust them.”

Dobby was nodding again. “Yes, Master George! Dobby has friends who can help! When should Dobby be back, sir?”

I looked at my watch (which was technically Fred’s, once upon a time). “If you can leave now, could you have them all here by eight? That’s five hours.”

“Yes, Master George!” Dobby crowed. “That’s plenty good!” He dissaparated with a pop.

I glared up at the sky with resentment. Even I hadn’t been able to make wards that could keep out a determined House-elf. I’d need to tell Dobby to keep an eye out for unwelcome visitors.

And remind me that I now had elves to do things like redecorate the house.

~!~

I had five hours until Dobby got back. After double checking on my Croaker statue (honestly, the man was pathetic. He’d spilled everything the moment I’d threatened him. Seriously.), I got a letter (finally!) from one Rita Skeeter. She wanted to know when I could give her an interview.

I wrote a letter back saying five at the Three Broomsticks would do. Then I sent a letter to the lovely Rosmerta asking to rent a private room for a few hours. I sent along a hefty bag of galleons and a very irate Fawkes, who promised he’d deliver the message only if I got Bill and Fleur engaged as soon as I could.

Both the reporter and the barmaid got back to me right away. Skeeter was overjoyed (mostly because I promised I had a way around Hermione’s blackmail), and Rosmerta said we couldn’t have the room, but we could use the main bar (where, coincidentally, all the customers could hear).

I took a long, hot shower, and then dressed up in some kakis and (Fred’s) dragon-skin jacket (again). I also brushed my hair, which wasn’t something I often remembered to do. I had been keeping it around ear length to hide my missing ear a little bit (the vanity strikes again!), so it had often been getting messy enough to occasionally rival Harry’s famous mop.

I arrived at the Three Broomsticks five minutes early. Skeeter was already there, as was a large crowd and a very busy (and very well equipped) Madame Rosmerta.

“Mr. Weasley!” Skeeter ran over and shook my hand immediately. She looked the exact same as she always had—it was a little unnerving, that. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Ms. Skeeter.” I shook her hand firmly, but let go quickly. “Are we starting immediately?”

“I certainly hope so, Mr. Weasley!”

Skeeter dragged me inside and sat me down at the bar table. I was pleased to see she had a normal Ever-Inking Quill in place of that horrible Quick-Notes Quill. Hermione’s blackmail still holding strong, then.

“Now,” she said eagerly, clutching her quill. “Who summoned…”

And so the interview began.

It lasted two and a half hours, at which point I cut it off to get back to Dobby. The pub was stuffed to the brim with curious witches and wizard of all sorts. They were a very good audience. They gasped at all the right places. They scoffed, they snorted, they applauded, laughed, and cheered. They screamed, they feinted, but not once did they interrupt. Not even when I talked about Dumbledore’s ‘theory’ about Riddle.

They did, however, all lapse into silence when I told them the story of _my_ Tom Riddle—hypocritical half-blood with lousy parent issues. I half expected a death eater or two to appear at that, but, alas, none did. Had they even escaped Azkaban yet?

Skeeter put away her quill and notes as I stood. “This was a very entertaining interview, Ms. Skeeter,” I told her. Quickly putting up a small privacy charm around us, I handed her a small slip of paper and a bag.

She took them both rather skeptically. “What are these, Mr. Weasley?”

I smiled a vicious smile—the kind that makes everyone back away from me. Skeeter did no such thing. “Why, Ms. Skeeter, I do believe we had an arrangement. The paper will get you out from Ms. Granger’s grasp. The other is a bag of galleons which you’ll find is bigger on the inside.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

I continued. “I hope to work with you further, Ms. Skeeter—but be warned. If you cross me, you’ll have far more to worry about than a heavy fine and public humiliation. Do I make myself clear?”

Her ruby-red lips twisted up into a smug smile. “Of course, Mr. Weasley. I do enjoy working with people who have an understanding of business.” She looked down at the paper, and her smiled turned into a frown. “The Ministry of Magic’s Animagus Registration Form?”

~!~

Dobby had several elves with him when he came back. All of them looked absolutely miserable and were in horrible condition.

This might take some work.

I put on a smile. “Hello! As Dobby may or may not have told you, I’m George Weasley, and I’m from another world.”

The only one to speak was Dobby.

“Ooh! Oooh! Master George!” he shrilled. “Dobby did tell them! Dobby explained who you’s were and what you’s needed! They’s all free elves, so’s they not be telling anybody’s!”

I smiled at the little elf. He had done exactly what I wanted—so long as the other elves were acceptable, of course. “That’s great, Dobby. Could you introduce me?”

Dobby nodded vigorously, in severe danger of toppling his precariously placed hats. “Yes, Master George! Dobby be glad to!” He pointed to a small, depressed looking female in a stained blouse and skirt. “This be’s Winky. Winky can cook and clean. Winky be’s working at Hogwarts like Dobby, but Winky’s wanting a master.”

The depressed little elf hiccupped.

I frowned. The name sounded familiar… “Hold on. Winky? As in the Crouch’s old elf?”

Winky’s nose twitched.

Dobby scowled at me. “Master George not be reminding Winky!”

I apologized, though I felt more interested in the mild stench of butter-beer around the elf than being polite. Apologizing was the nice thing to do, however, and I didn’t need to scare off my elves. “Sorry, Winky. I didn’t think. You can cook and clean?”

She nodded, perking up slightly. “Yes, Master George. Winky’s can cook and clean very well!”

“That’s great. You want to bond?”

Winky perked up even more, and nodded vigorously. Tears formed in her eyes. “Winky so grateful, Master George! Winky will always be so grateful to Master George!”

The little elf looked so overjoyed. I had a sudden urge to murder both Crouches—and probably would’ve, if they hadn’t both been dead. “Winky, I accept you as my elf.”

A familiar tug appeared in my mind. Winky wept and thanked me.

“Just wait here, would you, Winky? I only want to tell the rules once.”

She nodded.

I turned to Dobby.

A small, wry looking elf with ears even bigger than Dobby stepped forward. He was wearing nothing but a tea towel. “Dibbley can help Master George with potions,” he said. “Dibbley very good with potions.”

I looked the elf up and down. The elf was barely knee height, but I trusted Dobby. Besides, a bonded elf could only do what I told him anyway. “All right, Dibble. I accept you as my elf.”

The same thing happened with the other three elves. Flinky was a small, elderly elf who had spent almost two hundred years taking care of greenhouses. Her old masters had clothed her when her eyesight started fading, and she needed glasses. Personally, the square lenses and stern face on the old thing reminded me of McGonagall. I figured she could get the job done, especially if I talked to Neville and Sprout about plants.

Notty was a tall, burly looking elf almost waist high. He said he had a lot of experience working with dangerous animals, but his masters had been arrested for selling on the Black Market. He didn’t even look surprised when I asked if he could handle dragons, but he said he could.

Sippy was a small little elf who looked like a right spitfire. She said she’d been shipped from master to master until she landed at Hogwarts. She was one elf who spoke her mind (which was why she was fired so much) and, while Flinky _looked_ like McGonagall, Sippy acted like her (or, more accurately, like Hermione when she was in a mood). The twins had better watch out.

“All right,” I told all the elves. “Few rules. First, no one is to go in the basement. Ever. Second, you listen to me before you listen to the twins. My word is higher than theirs. Even you, Sippy, all right?”

They all nodded.

I handed Sippy the apprenticeship contract. “Read through this. You know what it is?”

“Yes, Master George.”

“So now you know what’s expected of the twins. Otherwise, it’s pretty simple: you do what they tell you, and try to keep them from getting hurt. If I tell them not to go somewhere or not to do something, make sure they listen.”

She nodded, and handed me back the contract.

“Dibbley, you can go set up my workroom. It’s on the third floor. The storeroom and library are hidden in nearby closets.”

He disappeared with a pop.

I promised Flinky and Notty that they’d have jobs soon, but agreed that Flinty could start building a greenhouse and Notty could start preparing the land for the animals I wanted. Winky told me she could get all the ingredients and supplies she need herself, so I let her start right away.

I sent the five off to their jobs, and turned to Dobby. The elf was pulling his ears nervously, which reminded me of something. “Dobby, I don’t want you to punish yourself. Ever. You understand?”

Dobby blinked at me owlishly and stopped yanking on his ears. “Master George is such a great master! Master George is as good as Harry Potter!

I figured that was the highest compliment I could ever receive from him. It almost warmed my heart. “The other elves know you’re watching over them?”

He nodded.

“And they don’t want payment or days off?”

“No, Master George.”

“Make sure they know not to punish themselves. I’ll also consider it your job to make sure you all have a safe, clean place to sleep. You can take one of the spare rooms; Merlin knows there’s a ton.”

Dobby was tearing up again.

“Also, Dobby. If I wanted the lot of you to wear something clean and nice, even just a clean pillowcase, would that be considered clothes?”

Dobby shook his head. “No, Master George. Not if you’s only suggest we wear something clean and nice.”

“All right, then. Consider that your job as well. I want the six of you wearing something clean, modest, and at least somewhat presentable. No more tea cozies.”

Dobby sniffed and blinked repeatedly. “Master George be the best master in the whole world!”

~!~

For once, I went to bed at a reasonable time. I even got up at a somewhat reasonable time, and then thoroughly enjoyed an enormous breakfast Winky had whipped up.

The house looked amazing. I had thrown everything together to make it livable, but Winky had scrubbed and polished every surface. The floors gleamed. The windows were so clear you didn’t even notice they were there. The furniture didn’t have a speck of dust on it, and the air smelled like wildflowers, which I found interesting.

Dobby popped in when I was eating breakfast. I was pleased to see his clothes, while still a mismatched hazard, were clean.

“Master George, sir!” he cried, holding an envelope. “This showed up at the wards this morning, sir!”

I took the letter. “Thanks, Dobby.”

It turned out Rita Skeeter had, in fact, been worried by my threat. So worried in fact that she sent me the article to proofread before she sent it to the prophet at eight— in an hour. Or maybe she was just impressed by the galleons…whatever.

It was a good article. Winky showed up once (in a new blouse and skirt) to see why I was spitting coffee all over the clean table.

**_DUMBLEDORE SUMMONS OTHER-WORLDY WEASLEY TO FIGHT YOU-KNOW-WHO!  
By Rita Skeeter_ **

_Just last week our former Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, attempted an illegal summoning! Why was it illegal, do you ask? I’ll tell you._

_Dumbledore, former Supreme Mugwump, didn’t fill out the paperwork! You’d think a politician with such a long career would know what paperwork to do, but I suppose that’s his mind finally cracking._

_Our summoned ‘hero’ informed me that to legally perform a summoning, all you have to do is fill out the paperwork at the Department of Mysteries and pay a few galleons. It makes one wonder what the Unspeakables are really learning about down there… And of course, if it wasn’t for the summoned bloke, the paperwork never would have gotten filled out._

_Of course, I have no doubt what my wonderful readers are wondering: who is this summoned hero? What’s he like? Is he handsome? Single? Rich?_

_The answer to all your questions, dear readers, can be answered in two words: George Weasley. Yes, you read that correctly—while intending to summon an older Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, the great Albus Dumbledore accidentally snagged a Weasley instead. Perhaps the old man is losing more than just his mind…_

_Now, when we hear the word ‘Weasley’, we all tend to cringe away from romance. Are they handsome? Of course. Pureblood? Undoubtedly. Rich? Well…_

_Never fear, darling readers, for I, Rita Skeeter, can assure you that thirty-two year old George Weasley (two far-away children, divorced wife) is not only handsome, single, and surprisingly intelligent, he has galleons pouring out his ears! Or should I say ear…?_

_George’s world is, unfortunately for him, quite different from ours once the timelines hit this year. It seems that You-Know-Who actually did come back in his world, and there was a terrible war. George’s older brother, William, had his face torn apart by a feral werewolf in human form (Fenrir Greyback) just months before his wedding. George himself lost his left ear in a battle, courtesy of Hogwarts Potions Master Snivellus Snape. George’s twin brother, Fred, was killed during the Last Battle, a horrible event that not only took away George’s brother but also his sanity (although that is being argued)._

_Let me tell you all, George Weasley is dangerous. Just as dangerous as retired Auror Alastor ‘Mad Eye’ Moody (but far more handsome and better equipped!…or would that be ‘better limbed’?)._

_Let me tell you, did George have some juicy secrets to share with me. Did you know that in his world, You-Know-Who was actually a half-blood with a Muggle father and near-squib mother? Yes, you heard that right—Tom Marvelo Riddle (compare the names. They’re anagrams!), although the heir to Slytherin, was only a half-blood raised in a Muggle orphanage!_

_“Riddle”, as George referred to him, “is nothing more than a homicidal, hypocritical idiot who happened to come across power through sheer dumb luck. Honestly, if he wasn’t a parseltongue, he’d never have been able to convince people he was the heir of Slytherin, and therefore pureblooded. Like I said, sheer dumb luck and pure idiocy.”_

_George said that if, by chance, Riddle has indeed come back (which he’s not yet sure about), then we have little to fear. This wizard gives Dumbledore a run for his money—Riddle won’t be a problem should they chance to meet._

_In the meantime, George has taken the infamous Weasley twins as his apprentices (most assuredly for safety precautions) and will be taking residence with them at Hogwarts during their seventh and final year. His plans concerning Potions Professor Snivellus Snape (we allow that man to teach our CHILDREN?!), the man who took his ear, are unknown._

_George did have this to say: “I’m quite shocked by the competence of the Ministry—shocked and pleased. Where I come from, we had to completely redo everything. It was so corrupt you couldn’t move without bumping into a death eater. Why, they’d even sent people (heirs of Most Noble and Ancient Houses!) straight to Azkaban on suspicion_ _of wrongdoings! Without trial! I am so glad to see that the Minister Fudge of this world and his colleagues are far better at their jobs of keeping this world safe than their counterparts. It’s nice to be able to trust the Ministry for once, and I fully intend to support the Ministry as a whole. However, I will admit that there a few odd lower-downs—under-secretaries, assistants, and the like—of whom I have ill memories and will try to avoid. Some things just cannot be undone. I hope that those unfortunate enough to have had useless, nasty, toad-like simpletons as their alternates do forgive me for that.”_

I almost fell off my chair laughing at this point. Oh yes, Skeeter didn’t need a Quick-Notes Quill to make a good story!

_I am sure everyone will be most anxious to assist this (deviously handsome and quite clever) wizard in adjusting to our world. I, for one, also feel much safer in having someone around who has fought Riddle (You-Know-Who) personally, as well as several of his death eaters, and lived to tell the tale, even should it prove unnecessary._

_Stay tuned for more from Me, Myself, and I!_

I threw back my head and roared with laughter. Call me what you will, but sucking up to the Ministry (while baiting the trap for Umbridge) fit right in with my plans. It felt good to laugh. It had been far too long.


	4. The Twins are Cleverer than Me

I had come to the conclusion that this Molly Weasley had a far larger temper than the one in my world, which was saying something.

“GEORGE FABIAN WEASLEY!” she roared, brandishing her wand at me (a rather foolish idea. It would be so easy to summon it with her waving it around like a baton). “HOW DARE YOU?!?”

“Working on your Howler voice, are you?” I ruffled Harry’s hair as I walked by, and received a steely glare for my efforts.

Mum turned even redder. “You—how—what—George! Why did you let Skeeter interview you? Look at all these lies!”

“Mum, she had me edit. Everything in there is the absolute truth—especially the parts about me being deviously handsome and clever.”

Bill snorted.

“You—you!” Mum looked like she was about to have a heart attack. “I raised you better than this, George!”

I tapped my wand on the couch, checking for spells or spilt potions, and sat down between Remus and Tonks—perhaps not my best idea, but sure to be amusing if played correctly. “Actually, Mum, you didn’t raise me at all. That was _my_ mum, see. And really, woman, I don’t see what’s got you so riled up. Skeeter and I have worked together several times. She’s excellent company if you want to find a scandal—and believe it or not, most of them do have quite a bit of truth. Say, Tonks, you are looking simply marvelous this morning.”

Tonks blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Oh. Er—thanks, George.” Her hair turned strawberry pink, which looked surprisingly different from her usual bubblegum.

Remus shifted in his seat next to me, uncomfortable.

“I just can’t believe you’d lie like that!” Mum said, apparently not hearing me. “And the things you did say—Dumbledore is a great man! How dare you?! I can’t believe we trusted our sons with you—Arthur? Arthur!”

Dad was fiddling with a rubber ducky (painted like a ninja) that I had slipped to him. He pocketed it guiltily and looked up at Mum. “Yes, Molly?”

Mum scoffed at the duck, and put her hands on her hips. “Arthur, cancel the contract.”

There was sudden silence.

Sirius frowned into his pumpkin juice. “Molly, you can’t just ‘cancel the contract’. First off, it’s magically impossible. Second, George would be well within his rights to disappear with the twins if you tried. Third, it’s just plain rude.”

“And he’s your son!” Tonks burst out. Her hair turned teal blue in confusion, reminding me of Teddy.

I sunk down into the couch a bit more. Something in my chest felt constricted at Mum’s words, but I wasn’t sure why. There was something wrong with the entire situation here. My mother would trust her children, no matter their world of origin or not—once she knew it was really them, of course. This one, though…this Molly Weasley put bossy, irritating, and dangerously foolish to a new level.

I didn’t like it.

Ah, well. At least Dad, Bill, and the twins seemed the same. I’d figure out the other Weasleys later; I hadn’t spent too much time with them yet, barring the impromptu training class with Fawkes.

I jumped to my feet, ignoring the tightness in my chest. “Right! I wanted to see the twins. And the other ickle kiddies, of course. And the rest of you darling folks. All the same, I think I’ll head upstairs now. Delightful talk we had here, Mum.”

I Apparated to the twins’ room. They were passed out in their beds, which made me rather jealous. I didn’t like mornings, and the chance to sleep in had been lost today due to me actually falling asleep at a reasonable time.

I woke them both with stinging hexes on their conveniently upturned bottoms. They woke with girlish squeals (goodness. Fred and I had never gone that squeaky, although Ron could on occasion).

“What the bloody hell was that for?” Fred asked, rubbing his tender wounds.

“That bloody hurt!”

“Language,” I reprimanded absentmindedly. “Listen, we’ve got to talk.” I paused for a moment, and, after thinking it over, set up a silencing ward.

Mini-Me yawned. “What on Earth was so important you had to wake us up at—what time is it, anyway?”

Fred looked at his watch, but didn’t answer. George seemed to be ok with that, so I didn’t bother answering either.

I tossed Fred _the Prophet_. “Here. I’m guessing you haven’t read it yet.”

George Apparated to his brother’s bed, and the two made quick work of it.

“That was seriously funny,” Fred said with a grin.

“But why’d you do it?”

“Skeeter’s known for stretching the truth—”

“And that’s putting it mildly.”

“I know. But I’ve worked with her before. I know her ways. And trust me, every word of that is the truth.”

Fred rubbed his eyes. “Ok. So you’re from another world and all, but we know—”

“Wait!” Mini-Me grabbed the paper and frantically reread through it. “Two faraway kids?! You’re a dad? A _dad_?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“With _kids_?”

I was getting annoyed now. “What, you don’t think I can do it?”

“We—ell…” Fred drawled.

“Shut it. Well, Junior? Don’t think you can be a dad?”

Mini-Me looked far too tired to be doing any actual thinking, if his cross-eyed gaze was anything to go by. “I didn’t say that. What are their names? How old are they? Who’s—who’s the mom?”

I inhaled sharply, accidentally drawing both of their attentions. “Yeah…about that. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Fred demanded.

“Freddie’s older—he’s eight. Roxanne’s a year younger.”

They both stared at me. “The mom?”

I frowned. “Like I said, there’s a lot I need to talk to you about, but I need to know that no one else can find it.”

Now it was the twins’ turn to frown.

“We won’t tell.” Fred promised.

“I know. I’m more worried about someone breaking into your minds.”

The twins blinked, looked at each other, and turned back to me.

“Yeah?” Mini-Me said. “So?’

I froze. “What do you mean….so?”

“I mean, people have poked at our minds before, but we’ve held them off.”

My left eye started twitching like a toddler with sugar. “Who?”

“Uh…Snape, twice. Dumbledore’s done it a few times. There was one old guy at the Ministry, and Malfoy Senior’s done it once.”

“And you know it? You can feel it?”

Fred answered this time. “We don’t let them in. It really surprised them all the first time, and Snape quit pretty fast. Dumbledore gives us a random once-over every time he enters a room, but it’s just a brush, like he’s not even trying.”

“We figured he did it to everyone, to check for eavesdroppers and doppelgangers.”

That was strange. I hadn’t felt Dumbledore do that to me. A thought—a rather paranoid one at that—started forming in my head. “Like Crouch and Moody?”

Both teens tensed up. They didn’t move for a few moments.

“We never thought of that,” Mini-Me said slowly.

“He should’ve known.”

“So what was he doing, then?”

I rechecked my silencing ward, and sat on the empty bed. “Mind if I check your Occlumency?”

They stared at me. “Our Occu-whatsits?”

That brought a frown to my face. If they could feel people poking around in their heads, how could they not know what Occlumency was? Who’d taught them? “Your Occlumency skills. Magics of the mind. Legilimency is used to enter someone’s mind, and Occlumency is used to defend and organize a mind. You two say you’ve been using Occlumency without knowing what it was?”

They nodded.

“Any other strange things I should know about?”

Mini-Me titled his head thoughtfully. “What was the other one? Legil-mandy?”

“Legilimency. Why?” There was a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Fred and I can talk to each other in our heads. We’ve always been able to do it—we thought it was a twin thing.” Both of them were watching me closely. “You two couldn’t, could you?”

I sagged back against the wall. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Twin telepathy? Natural Occlumency _and_ Legilimency? I didn’t think that was possible in my world. “No. No, we couldn’t.”

The twins didn’t say anything.

Would it have made a difference if we could have? Fred would’ve known about my ear, and I would’ve known—

It didn’t matter. I couldn’t have helped him. No one could have.

“Right.” I sat up straight and clapped my hands together, faking cheerfulness. “I’ll just check your mind barriers then, see how secure they are. It’s one thing to tell when someone’s there, and another to hold your own against the likes of a master.”

“Like Dumbledore.”

“Whom you seem fairly not fond of.”

“Dumbledore’s a manipulative bastard,” I snarled. “And you two are to remember that at all times.”

They glanced at each other. It dawned on me that they were probably speaking, and a sharp pang shot through my stomach. Was that jealousy? Couldn’t be. I closed my eyes and tightened my Occlumency walls, just in case there were a few emotions slipping through. I didn’t need a breakdown—especially not here.

Someone poked at my walls.

I rolled off the bed and onto the floor, both wands in my hands, and my barriers fully up. It took me a moment to realize it was the twins.

“Paranoid, are we?” Fred asked with a lazy grin.

“You two do that again and I’ll feed you to the jellyfish,” I hissed.

“What jellyfish?” Mini-Me narrowed his eyes.

“Consider it payback for the doxies this morning.”

“We didn’t even do anything!”

“Next time,” I slowly straightened, and put my wands away. “Let me know _before_ you do something stupid like that.”

“What, or you’ll feed us to the jellyfish?”

“I’ll seriously consider it.” I narrowed my eyes, and tried for a sudden attack. If the twins did have natural Occlumency, I didn’t know how strong it would be. I didn’t care, anyhow—if Dumbledore or Snape truly wanted to break into their minds, they wouldn’t go soft. So I didn’t.

They both yelped, and collapsed back on the bed. I did, too. My head felt like it had just run into the platform wall at King’s Cross after Dobby froze it. This was just one of them? Merlin’s purple beard, this was impossible! I’d spent years building my walls; I was known worldwide for being a master at mind-magics. Now?

I had clearly met my match.

“What…” I gasped. “The hell was that?”

Mini-Me shook his head and sat up, seemingly unfazed. Fred rolled over and stuck his head back under the pillow. “That,” Junior said lightly. “Was you hitting our walls. And bouncing off them, it felt like.”

“What, you share the same mind?” Impossible. I’d never heard of that happening. Of course, I doubt anyone but twins could, or even would, do it, anyway…the sheer idea of spending the rest of my life in someone else’s head, and that same someone in mine, was certainly terrifying unless I thought of Fred. Maybe even then.

Junior nodded. “We think so.”

I glared at him enviously. “You were born with those walls? It took me years to get mine, and I just bounced right—you know, forget this. Fred, get up. We need to talk.”

“What, we’re capable of keeping the secrets? Think we’re ready to be all knowing Weasleys now?” Fred flopped over onto Junior’s lap, making the bed bounce. I expected one of them to move or fall off, but they seemed just fine with the close contact. I swallowed. I had a headache, and I wasn’t sure whether it was from the failed Legilimency attack or an upcoming breakdown.

“There’s a lot of things we need to go over.” None of which I was any longer in the mood to explain.

Fred put his arms behind his head, still laying across Junior’s lap. The position didn’t look comfortable, and the Ravenclaw in me wanted my own questions answered, possible emotional breakdown or not.

“How exactly are you comfortable like that?” I asked, eyeing the teens.

“Comfortable like what?”

“If Mum saw you now, she’d have fits,” I said.

They laughed.

“Oh, she’s used to it.”

“Said we’ve done it ever since we were little.”

“Apparently it’s a twin thing.”

“Our uncles used to do it, too.”

“You know, the Prewetts.”

I rubbed my temples. This was going to take longer than I had thought. “Right. Natural mind magic, need for close contact. Any other ‘twin things’ I should know about?”

They looked at each other.

“I don’t think so,” Fred answered slowly. “Can we get back to you on that?”

I sighed. “Sure. Anyway, I’ve got a house. I’m not done with the wards yet, but I figured it would be good for you two to learn how.”

“Wards?”

“Like Hogwarts?”

I nodded. “Mine are a bit more secure than Hogwarts, but the theory’s the same—or was, before Dumbledore took control of them.”

“Can you explain your dislike of Dumbledore?”

My headache grew worse. “Yeah…I suppose. He was alright in the beginning, but he grew a big head after defeating Grindelwald—who’s still alive, by the way.”

Their eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, that was a shocker for me, too. Anyway, he got it in his head that he was always right, that he could literally do no wrong. He made a bunch of mistakes for the ‘greater good’ which started both wars. He made one which led to his own death, and that, at least, I can be grateful for.”

Fred titled his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You blame him for my death, don’t you?”

The curtains tore off the rods and slammed into the opposite wall, making the twins dive for cover.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about that, then?” Mini-Me asked tentatively.

I glared at him.

“O-kay,” he said meekly.

“Like I was saying, I’ve got a house and some elves, and we’ll be leaving tonight.”

Their eyebrows shot up again.

Fred asked, “I thought you said we weren’t leaving until the end of the week?”

I snorted. “What, you thought I meant that? No, that was to fool Mum into thinking she has more time to try and fool me out of the contract. You’re all packed, right?”

They looked at each other, and did a sort of nod, sort of shake with their heads.

“All right, fine. Is everything here at least?”

Mini-Me pushed Fred out of the way and reached under the bed. He pulled out a school trunk. “All we need is our notes, and they’re all in here.”

“I have all of my old notes, you know. They’re probably exactly the same.”

“They probably are,” Fred agreed. “But we’d like our copies around all the same, to hide them from Mum if nothing else.”

I pursed my lips. Fred’s comment had reminded me of something. “Can you tell me about your family?”

They both blinked.

Fred frowned. “They’re yours too.”

“I know. I thought things were almost exactly the same here, but I’ve been noticing differences—small ones, but I’m worried there’s some big ones too. So...care to explain?”

“What exactly is different?”

“Mostly Mum. Mine had a temper, but a much longer fuse and a somewhat smaller explosion.”

Mini-Me grimaced. “That sounds…kind of quiet, actually. I don’t know what we’d do if Mum didn’t send Howlers once a week.”

“Oh, she certainly did that. Worked herself up into quite a fit. She didn’t want to acknowledge us growing up, either, but she wasn’t quite so…smothering, I guess. I mean, she was, but not the way she is here. We had _some_ breathing room.”

Fred nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. You are in a different world. Things are bound to be different.”

He was right, actually. I’d been thinking the only difference was Dumbles doing the summoning. “Well, if you’re all packed, I can get talking. I—”

“Just a moment!” Fred held up a hand, interrupting me. “Sorry, mate, but we just woke up. Give us five minutes?”

I stared at them for a moment. It would make sense to let them freshen up first, but I was getting impatient—and my headache was steadily growing worse. I wanted to be home and secure before anything happened. “Yeah, sure. Be quick, though, or I’ll start without you.”

“How can he start without us?” Junior muttered as they Apparated away.

They reappeared in two minutes, both looking exceptionally frazzled.

“Quick, strengthen your wards!” Fred wheezed. “Mum and Dumbledore teamed up!”

Oh dear.

“Fawkes!” I jumped to my feet, and the phoenix flamed in. “Great. Can you distract Mum and Dumbledore for a bit while I talk to the twins?”

Fawkes gave me a petulant look.

“Oh, don’t even try it,” I warned him. “You wanna set something on fire, make sure it’s Dumbledore’s beard and not my shirt.”

The bird perked up at the permission to set something on fire, and flamed out.

The twins collapsed on the other bed.

“Feeling better?” I asked.

“A bit. Hungry, though.”

“That can wait. Now, we’ve covered some of Dumbledore, and part of the warding. Let’s finish the house.” I clapped my hands together. “It’s a rather large mansion in the middle of the countryside—and before you ask, no, I don’t know exactly where it is. I wasn’t paying that close attention, I just wanted a sizable house with a large property.”

They stared at me.

“You don’t even know where it is?” Junior seemed skeptical.

“Makes it harder for anyone else to find it,” I snapped. “It’s a basic ward system right now: something Bill and I invented. It’s called the Triple-Ward System, because there’s three interlocking wards.”

Both teens perked up.

“Interlocking wards?”

“How’d you manage that?”

“A Mastery in Runes and some solid ward stones helped,” I retorted. “You two aren’t quite to that level yet. It’s made up of a Keep-Away, both Muggle and wizard, an Awareness Ward, and a Control Ward. Know what those are?”

“I thought you said you’d teach us when we got there.” Fred was shooting me a rebellious look I knew all too well. I’d worn it myself plenty of times. So had my Fred.

“I said I’d teach you how to put in the extras,” I said sharply. “I’m telling you about these because it’s stupid to live in a place and not know the ward set-up.”

I didn’t get an apology, but I wasn’t really expecting one.

“An Awareness Ward monitors everything inside the wards that’s either alive or has a magical signature. That includes people, pets, magical plants, all trees, most books, potion ingredients, and pretty much everything else you two have ever been exposed to. The Control Ward is tied to my head, and lets me know if something new entered or something left that wasn’t supposed to. Mine also lets me have complete control over everything inside the ward lines, so I can move them around.”

“Wouldn’t that make you, er, a bit mad?” Junior asked tentatively.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a risk. It never bothered me, so I do it anyway.”

“Right.”

I narrowed my eyes at the pair of them. Yes, I was more than a bit off in the head, but that was no reason for them to say so. It was rude. “Behind each ward is a set of interlocking defenses. Behind each of those is a set of backup defenses.”

“He’s worse than Moody,” Fred muttered.

I ignored him. “I’m not telling you what the defensive wards do exactly, but I will tell you they have different functions depending on whether someone is trying to get out or in.”

“How so?” Junior asked.

“If the outsides are hit, the wards will react much stronger and less friendly than they would someone trying to get out from the inside. If someone tries to esca—leave without my say-so, the wards will immediately transport them to a certain room in the house.” I glared at them. “You are two are not to test those under _any_ circumstances. The side effects are not pleasant.”

They paled slightly.

“We’re going to be warding each individual room,” I said. “Some rooms are already done. You two are going to be doing the rest.”

“How many are there?” Junior asked, his tone reluctant.

I had to think for a moment. “The kitchen, the dining room, the training room—that’s going to need extra warding—five bedrooms, three bathrooms, your workroom, the library, my storeroom, your storeroom, a greenhouse, an outside pavilion, a small balcony, and a wrap-around porch.”

Their eyes grew wider with each room.

“You’ve never taking runes class. You better believe you’re going to learn.”

“We can self-teach!” Fred complained. “It’s what we’ve always done!”

“Yes, and it’s what you’re doing now,” I replied, giving them my I-am-fierce-as-a-dragon-and-will-eat-you smile. “Deal with it. You won’t have to do much cleaning, but I still expect you to make sure everything’s organized—that’s your job, not just the elves’. If you need ingredients, you ask me. If you want to make potions, fine, but I want to know if they’re above NEWT level or experimental. If you two are experimenting at all, let me know in case something goes wrong.”

“Will you give us your notes on products you’ve made?” Junior asked. “We can get a head start that way.”

I thought about it. The shop was incredibly profitable, and I certainly wanted the twins to eventually open it. I had made hundreds of potions, charms, spells, and wards which they could and should certainly use.

“All right,” I said. “But if choose to sell them first, you have to deal with it. I want to give Bill the ward plans. Not sure about anything else yet.”

The twins seemed to be having an animated private discussion. They kept frowning at each other, then looking thoughtful.

I coughed. “You might want to know about the rest of the security.”

“What security?” They both sounded suspicious. Good.

“I’ll be getting some full-time guards stationed in certain areas. I’ll ward those places myself, and I don’t want you going there without me.”

“What security?” Junior demanded.

“Dragons, grims, and a giant squid or two.”

They blanched.

“Dragons?!”

“Grims?!”

“Are you—?”

“Mad?” I interrupted. “Quite. I have six elves. You may have heard of Dobby? He’s my personal elf. Dibbley will stay mostly in my workroom, but if you need help with potions and I’m not around, he’ll help. Winky’s job is to cook and clean, Flinky’s working on the greenhouse, Notty will handle the beasts, and Sippy’s your own personal elf.” I glared at the two of them. “You are not to abuse or overwork them. They listen to me over you, and they will disobey your orders to follow mine. Got it?”

“Six elves?!” Fred squeaked. “Blimey, mate!”

“I set up your room, but you can decorate it how you wish.” Was there anything else I needed to tell them? Oh, yeah. Dumbledore. Me. Everything else. “I’m not going into Dumbledore’s entire history, but I want you both to listen to me closely.”

They leaned forward, watching me intently.

“What can you tell me about Harry’s life at the Dursleys?”

They didn’t say anything for a moment—or maybe they were talking to each other.

Fred spoke up. “When he saved him fourth year, there were bars on his windows, and his things were locked in a closet downstairs. They were barely feeding him.”

“The entire time we’ve known him he’s been nothing but skin and bones,” Junior cut in.

“He’s one of the smartest kids we know—”

“But he has terrible grades—”

“Ron and Hermione run all over him—”

“He doesn’t seem to know or care—”

He’s brave, but a good guy—”

“Refuses to say anything about himself, especially when it has to do with—”

“The Dursleys, and Tonks spent all summer complaining—”

“How it was so boring to watch him because—”

“All he did was chores—”

“Which doesn’t make sense, because he’d just seen Diggory be killed.”

I waited for them to finish.

After a minute, Fred said quietly, “He’s mentioned ‘his cupboard’ a few times. You don’t think he actually lived in that little cupboard, do you?”

“I know so,” I said.

The twins looked upset, but not surprised. Fred and I had known, somewhere in our heads, that Harry was neglected, but had never pieced it together until the entire truth came out—although that was too late for Fred.

I sighed wearily. “Harry’s not abused, but he was heavily neglected, basically treated like a House elf, and bullied by his whale of a cousin. Did you two give him the Tongue-Ton Toffee here, too?”

The teens grinned at that.

“Yeah. Mum and Dad were livid.”

That they had been. I couldn’t remember another time when Dad yelled so badly. We had probably deserved it, but Dudley did too.

“So we’re going to do something about Harry?” Junior asked.

“I want to free Sirius and get Harry to live with him,” I said. “But that’s not my point. Who placed Harry at the Dursleys?”

Fred sighed. “Let me guess—Dumbledore.”

“I’d give a point to Gryffindor if I was a teacher,” I told him (somewhat proudly, but he didn’t have to know that).

“So…your point is Dumbledore’s the one who placed him at the Dursleys…”

I could practically see their minds (mind?) turning. Smart kids, those two. Real geniuses. Handsome, too.

“Because of the blood wards—”

“Which are illegal,” I cut in.

“Right. He’s being kept in an abusive—”

“Neglected.”

“Neglected situation because of illegal blood wards—” Fred’s eyes widened at Junior’s words. He stared at me.

“No way,” he said. “Riddle was resurrected with Harry’s blood! Those wards don’t work, do they?”

I grimaced. “It’s worse than that. There _are_ no blood wards.”

“WHAT?!?”

“Not protective ones, at least. The ones that are there let Dumbledore know exactly when Harry’s inside them, or if he’s left the Dursleys.”

The twins stared at me in utter horror.

“It gets worse,” I said. “Riddle made horcruxes—he split his soul into pieces and scattered them.”

The twins’ gazes turned from horrified to nauseated.

“He made seven of them. One was the diary which controlled Ginny. Harry destroyed that with the basilisk fang, one of the few things that can actually destroy a horcrux. Another is Riddle’s pet snake, one is a cup given to Bellatrix in her Gringotts vault, one is an old family heirloom of his mother’s, one is in this house right now, and one’s inside Harry’s scar.”

Their gazes became horrified again.

“Harry’s connection with him,” Fred said almost reverently. “That’s—oh Merlin—that’s disgusting! Can you get rid of it?”

I frowned. “Probably. I’ll have to look into that. Dumbledore knows about it—”

“Of course he does,” Junior muttered darkly.

“—but he plans for Harry to die fighting Riddle, therefore destroying the horcrux and giving Dumbles a chance to step in and play hero. It’s a win-win situation for him.”

The twins frowned in sync. “But he summoned you.”

My frown turned into a scowl. “I know. I just don’t know—” I froze. My thoughts were racing too fast to keep up, so all I could do was let the paranoia work them out itself. It clicked. “I know why he did it.”

They leaned closer.

“Well?” Fred demanded. “Tell us!”

“Patience, little grasshopper. Dumbles wanted—oh no. That’s bad. Dumbles wants—wanted—Harry—older Harry—to come and take out the death eaters. He would have arranged an ‘accident’, leaving younger Harry to fight Riddle. Harry would die, Dumbles would step in, and everything would be right once more.”

“That bloody */—/*!”

I was rather impressed with the amount of curse words the twins knew. They weren’t afraid to use them, either.

“I quite agree with you,” I said amiably, after they had calmed down. “That’s why his plans can’t succeed. But I’m here, so they’re not going to.”

Junior took a deep breath. His ears hadn’t cooled down yet from their cherry red color. “So he wanted Harry to die—I mean wants. Right. But that obviously didn’t happen in your world.”

“No,” I agreed. There was a strong sour taste in my mouth which unfortunately reminded me of lemon drops. “Dumbledore made one mistake too many and he accidentally killed himself. By that time the war was so bad hundreds were already dead. His death just sped things up a bit. We’re alright now…at least, we’re getting better.”

Fred flopped backwards on the bed. His stomach released a large growl. I supposed I should let them eat soon, but there was just so much to go over. Besides, it felt kind of nice to be able to talk things through like this—even it was to myself and an alternate version of my dead twin. Good Merlin. It was a good thing I wasn’t planning to ever take therapy.

Junior stood and started pacing. “We need to do more to throw off his plans—his and Riddle’s. If everything you’re saying is true, the only reason the wizarding world is getting better, or advancing, is because so many are dead. You—we—had no choice but to start over.”

I nodded.

“Riddle wants the werewolves,” Fred called. “Dumbledore does, too. He’s been thinking of sending Lupin.”

“You mean Moony?” I couldn’t resist. Fred and I had been very surprised to learn about our heroes. Of course, we’d only found out after Sirius was dead, but still.

Fred snorted. “Yeah, we grilled them earlier. I still can’t believe Sirius and Lupin are Marauders.”

“That’s actually a good idea.” Junior was only paying half a mind to the conversation—probably Fred’s half. “Werewolves. Let’s see. They want rights, right? We can’t give them that. But…we could give them places to stay. Places to change, and not be hunted.” He turned to me, eyes wild with ideas. “You said you’re rich, right? You could buy houses and—”

“Whoa!” I was startled at this unexpected turn of events. I’d only really planned on housing the twins. “Hold your hippogriffs, Junior! That’s not—I mean…”

“That’s a good idea,” Fred said, agreeing with his brother.

“You would say that,” I snipped.

“Hey, he’s your alternate.”

“Shut it!” Junior snapped. “I mean it. We wouldn’t make them fight for us, either—George—I mean, Mr. Weasley—seems to have a pretty good handle on taking out the death eaters. But we’d get them away from both sides, and they’d owe us. That’s a good thing, right?”

Both twins were looking at me like lost bunnies. “Uh, I’m not sure you’re on the right track there…”

“Why not?”

That question threw me for a score. I hadn’t thought about it; I’d just heard a teenager come up with a large, crazy plan and then I’d ignored it. I really was mad.

If the twins could make enough products to keep their Owl Order business going, we’d have an income. We wouldn’t even need it. I could easily buy up abandoned houses (or make the Muggles mysteriously win the lottery) and ward them for the werewolves. I’d doubt feral ones would join, but the only ones I knew of were Greyback’s, and his pack was tiny. If I could get the werewolves to trust me, not only would they be better off, I wouldn’t need to worry about them in the long run.

“George,” I said. “That’s genius. Got any more ideas?”

If I was going to be outsmarted by a teenager, I would much rather it was myself when I was about to suffer an emotional breakdown than anyone else at another time.

He sat back down on the bed, and his stomach started protesting right along with Fred’s. “Um…they’re both trying the giants, too, but I’m not sure what you could about that. Maybe just buy up some land way up north and hand it over on the promise they’ll behave? I dunno.”

I nodded slowly. “No, that’s good. Expensive, but good.”

“You could get more elves that are familiar with potions, and they could make already-invented products for the shop. That we’d have an income.”

Brilliant minds think alike. Especially if they’re the same mind.

“I think we need to do something about Hogwarts too.” He was getting worked up now, and I could tell (through my own experience of being, well, _me_ , and Fred’s warning looks) that he wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

“Junior!” I shot a quick stinging hex at him.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“One thing at a time,” I said. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but we can’t tackle Hogwarts. Not yet. Although…” I grinned, a large, feral one that felt like it split my face in half. “I want you two to figure out how to drive someone insane. I mean really, truly insane. You can use whatever pranks you want, but Umbridge better end up in St. Mungo’s permanent ward—if she survives.”

The twins’ faces went blank.

“Uh…” Fred said. “Not to sound like an idiot, but who’s Umbridge?”

“An ugly pink toad who plays undersecretary to the Minister.”

Junior fished out the newspaper from somewhere. “You mean, an odd lower-down who’s also a useless, nasty, toad-like simpleton?”

“That’s her.”

~!~

By the time we came down, Mum was in the middle of a glaring contest with a flaming Fawkes. Dumbledore, Harry, and a few others were watching on the sidelines. I’m pretty sure the phoenix was losing, although he’ll never admit it.

“George.” Mum snapped the word out the way she would a kitchen towel. “Get your bird out of my way.”

I leisurely strolled down the stairs with the twins following me. “Fawkes, you’re good now.”

The bird turned to me, met my eyes, and flamed out. I’m pretty sure he winked at me.

Mum turned to glare at me. It would have been pretty terrifying (everyone else cowered back, including the twins), but it’s one thing to be scared of your angry mother when you’ve seen her singlehandedly duel, kill, and disintegrate the darkest witch of all time, and another to be frightened of your mother when she just has a large temper and little experience actually fighting.

“Bill!” I ignored Mum’s glare and strolled over to my brother. I clapped an arm around his shoulders. “Got a gift for you.”

He didn’t look comforted at that. “Really. I suppose it’s going to blow up?”

“Of course not,” I said, pretending to be affronted. “That’s childish and immature. Why, only I would do such a thing. No, actually, this is something you and I invented a while back. Thought you could fine tune it a bit more and sell it. Made a fortune last time, let me tell you.”

I dug through my pockets, trying to find the ward notes. They had to be there somewhere…ah-ah!

“Got ‘em!” I cried jubilantly, brandishing aforementioned notes. The stack of parchments were old, yellowish, and covered in barely legible handwriting (a mixture of mine and Bill’s). They didn’t look like they were worth a fortune, that’s for sure.

“What, that’s worth a fortune?” Ron asked dubiously. “I thought you had something really cool!”

I tossed him a puking pastille. “Try that, Ronald. That’s really cool.”

The twins, having already made the candy, snickered. Ron, knowing to be cautious whenever the twins snickered, turned pale and threw it in Harry’s lap.

Bill took the papers and started breezing through them. He stopped, went back to the beginning, and completely drowned in two seconds.

“Like them?” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Lot of work, that was.”

“These are…these are brilliant!” he gasped.

“Mm-hmm.” Never let it be said I don’t acknowledge my own genius.

“The ward schemes—the runic arrays—the very idea! This is—this is revolutionary!”

“Yep. Good for security, too.”

Bill flipped through it some more. “George—you can’t give this to me. This is—”

“Priceless?” I said. “Yeah. I already know it. Keep it.”

“You’ll let me study it?”

“I want you to sell it.”

Dumbledore, his beard slightly singed, frowned. His Twinkle™ dimmed. My eyes narrowed. He said, “William, my boy, perhaps I should see those first. Just because they are popular in George’s world doesn’t mean—”

I cut him off. “Hold it. You want Bill to turn down an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study a ward that even death eaters can’t get through easily, just because it worked in my world and you’re afraid it may be ‘dark’?”

Dumbledore’s Twinkle™ reappeared. “Not at all, my dear—”

“You call me your ‘boy’ and I’ll string you up to the Quidditch posts, you hear?” I snarled, my hands subconsciously clenching into fists.

Everyone (except Bill, who still had his nose buried, and Dumbledore, who obviously had no idea what I could do) backed away. I threw up a silencing ward around Mum, just in case she deemed it appropriate to interrupt.

The Twinkle™ dimmed again. “George, I must object. We don’t know for sure whether it is safe—”

“What, you think we just spent a few hours patching up a half-done ward scheme and sold it to the highest bidder?” A window shattered, sending droplets of glass raining down. “We spent _five years_ working on that thing, and it’s passed every safety test it’s been through. A dozen Unspeakables couldn’t get through it.” Not to mention we had charmed the parchment so only Bill, me, or people we gave permission to could read it.

The Twinkle™ came back. Did it have a life of its own or something? “Really? I’m sorry, George, I had no idea.”

“Like hell you would,” I snapped. “Try asking next time. And it’s Mr. Weasley to you.”

Dumbledore’s eyes glittered darkly with excitement. I didn’t like it. “Perhaps I could see those wards schemes, and implement them into Hogwarts?”

I pretended to think about it. “I don’t really see how the Hogwarts’ wards need updating, Headmaster. A troll and possessed teacher, then a fraud and a horcrux—” Dumbledore tensed. “A basilisk, a werewolf—no offense, Remus—a polyjuiced death eater, and then this year? Hmm…”

“What do you mean ‘this year’?” McGonagall frowned.

“Aren’t you supposed to be grading summer homework?” I growled.

Her face turned pink, and she scowled darkly, but didn’t say anything.

Bill, not looking up, poked me. “What size ward stones did you use? It doesn’t say here.”

“Hmm? Oh, we used 2 ft. square ones and shrunk them to about five inches once the runes were applied.”

His eyes widened in appreciation. “Brilliant,” he breathed.

There was a loud bang. Everyone, even Bill, jumped. Moody and I had our wands up and out, pointed towards—Mum had apparently tried to _Finite_ my silencing charm and discovered the…ah…side effects of trying to do so.

“Get if OFF me!” She mouthed furiously, struggling amidst a pile of blue sticky feathers.

“What was that, Mum?” I asked. “Couldn’t hear you.”

Her face was a perfect apple. Round, shiny, and red.

Dumbledore coughed, although it sounded suspiciously like a snicker. “Just a moment, Molly.” He flicked his wand up—

_—f*ck_! The wand! I had forgotten the wand! How on _earth_ could I have been so _stupid_?! I forgot the _bloody elder wand_!

Bill poked me, and whispered quietly, “Why are you cursing?”

I froze. “Did anyone hear me?”

“Only me. What’s wrong?”

I opened my mouth. Then I closed it. I knew for a fact I hadn’t been charmed—I was making it routine to check every minute with Dumbledore in the room—but there was a small part of me that suddenly wanted to open up and tell Bill everything.

Out of the entire family, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Harry were the only ones I had known I could rely on. Everyone else still had trouble looking me in the face even now—even Mum and Dad. Especially Mum. One of the many downfalls of having your identical twin die, I suppose. All the same, it had hurt then—back before I started using Occlumency the way everyone said you shouldn’t.

Charlie had visited home only once, and I’d only gone to his reserve twice in the past twelve years. Harry was busy all the time, what with dating and marrying Ginny—the _nerve_ of the brat!—having the kids, and working so hard. It had been Bill and Fleur I’d relied on when I needed time to grieve. Now things were different, and my options were very limited.

Could I trust this Bill—my big brother—the same way?

“Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow at dawn,” I told him. “I need to talk to you—but don’t let anyone else know, _especially_ Dumbledore.”

His eyes grew dark, and he frowned. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to say it here. I’ll tell you tomorrow. And if I act paranoid, don’t be surprised.”

“You mean more than you have been?”

“That wasn’t paranoia,” I said. “That was normal.”

His frown became deeper. “All right.”

“And if the twins mysteriously disappear tonight, don’t be surprised about that either.”

“I figured you wouldn’t be taking them at the end of the week.”

I blinked. “That obvious?”

“To me and Moody. I didn’t tell anyone, though, and Moody seems to agree with your caution. Besides, he thinks Dumbledore’s not anywhere near paranoid enough to be trusted with anything important. That’s why he didn’t guard Harry this summer—he refused to report to Dumbledore.”

That was news to me. Of course, Moody had often argued with Dumbles back in my world for being so ‘goddamn reckless’. It was more than likely it was just his paranoia making him act the same in both worlds.

“Right,” I said. “Enjoy those wards. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“And in the meantime? It’s not even ten—you can’t mean to take the twins yet, do you?”

“No. Not yet. I’m going to have some fun first.” I gave him a grin. “Word of warning: if anyone sees those papers without your or my permission, it’ll look like some of Charlie’s special sketches.”

Bill looked confused. “Which ones?”

“The special ones.”

He turned red. “Oh.”

“Sorry to say you won’t see them as that, though.”

“Shame. Charlie’s got a good hand.” I grinned and the implied meaning, and Bill turned even redder. “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” he hissed. “Besides, I’m dating a quarter Veela. I’ve got plenty of action.”

That caught my attention. “Fleur? Fleur Delacour?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“She was Beauxbatons’ champion in the TriWizard. Forgot she worked at Gringotts. How long have you two…?”

“Just a few weeks.” Bill sheepishly scratched the top of his head, still redder than Fawkes on a burning day. “I mean, it’s not serious, but I’m kind of hoping it will be.” His gaze turned hopeful. “I don’t suppose…?”

“Not a chance in hell,” I said, clapping him on the back. “I’m not messing up your love life through a slipup. Don’t even try.”

He grinned, but it quickly faded. “George, I—I mean—I want—”

Hell’s bells. He wanted to talk about Fred. Figures the twins wouldn’t want to be the only ones to know. “Not now,” I begged. “Seriously, Bill, I’ll tell you later, but if I think about him anymore now I’m liable to lose control again and have the entire house blow up.”

Bill touched my arm gently, but didn’t keep it there. “I know you’re technically older than me now, but I’m still your big brother. If you need anything—I know when we first met, you said—”

“Bill. Not here.”

He blinked, suddenly seeming to notice we were standing in the middle of a silently screaming Mum and a somewhat panicking though highly amused Order. “Right. Tomorrow.”

I nodded, and walked up to Mum. “I’ll fix it if you stop screaming at me,” I promised. “Not just now, but for the rest of the summer. At least.”

She shut her mouth and glared at me. It would’ve looked a tad more impressive without the blue feathers, but I suppose a mother has to try.

“Well?” I prompted.

The Order quieted to a buzz. They seemed to be forming in an unofficial circle around me and Mum. Dumbledore, the sneaky bastard, was standing directly over my shoulder, which I didn’t like. Bill, however, was standing directly behind me. That made me feel a little safer.

Moody was also standing in the corner of the room. If anyone drew a wand, even Dumbles, I figured he would see it and throw a fit.

Mum’s face was still red as a cherry. She nodded stiffly.

I undid the silencing charm. “Use soap,” I told her. “Stuff’ll come right out with a bit of scrubbing.”

“Wh—why you—”

If I could keep making her this speechless, I wouldn’t have to worry about silencing charms.

I Apparated out of the room again. Seeing Mum covered in feathers reminded me of something I needed to do, and I’d need the twins help for it.


	5. I Steal Stuff and Get Drunk

The twins weren’t in their room.

That was a problem. If they weren’t in their room, then where they were?

I spun in a slow circle, observing said room. It was pretty bare; there were two beds, the twins’ school trunks, and a few piles of dirty clothes. In other words, nothing out of the ordinary except for a pair of missing teens.

There was a pop outside the door. Someone knocked, and the door creaked as it swung open.

“We’re in the kitchen,” Junior said. “Or Fred is. I was.”

Oh. Right. The twins had followed me downstairs. I knew that. Forgot it, but I knew it.

I gave Junior a mock disappointed glare. “It’s much easier to find you two if you’re in your room all the time.”

“Much easier for everyone else to find us, too.” He grinned, and I knew right then he’d somehow won the round. Cheeky bastard.

“I need your help.”

His grin disappeared. “Now? I haven’t even finished eating!”

“Yes, now. I need Fred, too.”

He muttered something under his breath which I’m positive would have made Mum (his and mine) _scourgify_ his mouth, and Dissaparated with a crack. Where had the twins learned this many curse words? I didn’t remember knowing _that_ many as a teen.

I was a teensy bit impressed at his colorful language, but I had other things to do. If the twins didn’t show back up in a minute I was going after them, which would kind of defeat the purpose. Unfortunately, it had to be done.

I was just about to pop downstairs when the twins arrived with loud cracks and a plate of towering, unbuttered toast.

“What is it?” Fred grouched. “Can’t you even wait five minutes? I’m starving.”

“Shut it,” I told him. “I have something I need to do, and I can’t do it without you.” I checked the room for charms or listening devices, checked myself, checked both twins, and set up another silencing ward. “Right, we’re good.”

“Are you sure you’re really George? You seem a whole lot more like Moody.”

“I said _shut it_ , Fred. Do you two know anything Dumbledore has in his office?”

They looked at each other. Fred perched on the end of a bed, balancing the toast on his lap. “What’s in it for us?”

I was utterly gobsmacked. I mean, it was good and all that the twins wanted to know why exactly they should do something—especially since it was me, someone they could, ideally, trust without thinking. I wanted them to think for themselves, and that was good.

I just didn’t expect it to happen quite so soon.

Had Fred and I been that suspicious? No. But…come to think of it, we had been pretty rebellious teens.

Merlin’s pathetic wimpy hippogriff with gout. What had I gotten myself into?

“I can get you up at five o’clock every morning,” I threatened.

“What do you need, good sir?”

It is truly amazing how well I know myself at times. Of course, the twins seemed not to realize I would never willingly get up at five o’clock myself, but that might have been because they seemed to be concentrating on nothing but the pile of toast.

“I need you to distract Dumbledore for me.”

They looked up.

Junior spoke around a bite of bread. “Dumbledore? Why?”

“You don’t actually want us near him, do you?” Fred took another bite. “I mean, you just spent the past hour telling us how dangerous he was and all the bad stuff he’s done.”

I shrugged. “You’ve got great Occlumency, so I seriously doubt he can do anything lasting that I can’t fix, not without you knowing about it. Besides, you’ve always trusted him before. It’ll be a little strange if you don’t now.”

“What are you doing?”

I grinned. “You’ll find out.”

~!~

Fawkes leaned forward rather precariously from his perch on my shoulder. He peered around Dumbles’ office warily.

“Crrrk?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Gonna rob him blind. Anything I don’t take, feel free to set on fire.”

He chirruped cheerfully, bopped his head against my chin, and hopped over to his old perch. He looked at me sorrowfully, and struck it a few times with his foot.

“You don’t need another perch.”

He chirruped again.

“There’s dozens of places for you to perch around the house.”

The bird narrowed his eyes.

I didn’t want him setting my clothes on fire again, so I caved. “Fine. I’ll bring the bloody perch.”

He chirruped happily again.

I shook my head. Fawkes was a good friend, but he was also a spoiled brat at times. Of course, most of that was my fault, but still.

A piece of ratty fabric shifted on the self. “I wondered when you would be stopping by.”

The Sorting Hat. I had forgotten it stayed in the Headmaster’s office. It could cause some serious damage to me if it told Dumbles I had been here, so I had better play it careful.

“Hat,” I said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It nodded its brim at me. “Mr. Weasley. I assume Dumbledore doesn’t know you’re here?”

“I’m hoping not.”

The Hat seemed to think over this for a moment. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I was mistaken, and you are better suited to Slytherin, like your brother, instead of Ravenclaw.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I assumed the twins here would’ve belonged in the same house.”

The Hat made a sound somewhat like a snort. “They may share thoughts with each other, Mr. Weasley, but they are still two people. In fact, I think you’ll find not much is different here in this world at all.”

“How so?” I asked, Fred’s wand starting to slide down into my hand. “I thought you couldn’t see in my head unless you were on me?”

“You are naïve as a child. Albus was ranting for two days straight about your behavior. Also, Fawkes has been quite informative. His counterpart and I quite appreciated it.”

I glared at the phoenix. He was lazing on his perch with an air of innocent amusement.

“Right. Did the Great Bumblebee say anything he shouldn’t have?”

The Hat chortled (which was just strange). “Oh, he’s said many things. I am very excited to see what you will make of this new world. After all, few things are different. You’ve already met most of them, whether you see it or not. You have, however, set quite a few things in motions, Mr. Weasley, which I must say I am quite pleased about. Fabric and fire do not get along, no matter what your pet seems to think.”

Fawkes chirped at it, irritated. He’d been up to his own plans, then…but of course he had. Fawkes had considered Dumbledore a great friend and wonderful man, only to realize he’d been tricked by someone even worse than Voldemort (arguably).

“He told you about the battle?”

“I cannot believe any one of my former students actually had the nerve to set me on fire!” it said. “Do give Mr. Riddle a good hexing for me, won’t you?”

I grinned. “Why, of course. Now, did Fawkes tell you why I’m here?”

“No need. Feel free, of course, to loot everything. Take me, too—we need to talk. Just make sure I’m back in time for the Sorting.”

It took a bit of negotiating to get the Hat away. It refused to be shrunk, and it didn’t seem keen on being balled up to fit through the opening of my pocket. Even if my pockets were rather larger than normal, it didn’t mean the openings were. We finally settled on Fawkes flaming him to the house.

It wasn’t a second later Fawkes flamed back in. Just a moment after that, another column of flame appeared on the perch next to him. We both jumped back, and Fawkes let out a disturbed caw.

“What the bloody—?!”

Alternate-Fawkes tilted his head as he studied us.

“Crrr?”

I didn’t know phoenix-speak, but I did know Fawkes.

“Hi!” I smiled widely, and tried to pretend I wasn’t in the process of robbing the headmaster blind. “Good to see you, Fawkes!”

Fawkes (my Fawkes) shook his head. He flapped his wings at me and cawed. The mental image he sent of me rooting through Dumbles’ desk drawers was a little much, but I got the point.

“Right. I’ll leave you two to talk it out then.”

With the twins pestering Dumbledore about apprenticeship contracts and other odd things only old insane people like him should know about, I had plenty of time. I started with the desk first.

“Oh dear Merlin,” I said. “Fawkes, come over here a minute.”

The birds were making a racket over in the corner, both squawking and flapping their wings. They both quieted and turned to me when I called.

“Crrrk?”

I gestured at the wide array of silver instruments on the desk. “Are these what I think they are?”

Fawkes nodded, looking grim (although how, I’m not sure. It was quite a feat). A picture of Harry popped up in my head, and then another of Harry bleeding.

I had found the blood equipment.

I stared at Fawkes—both of them. “What do I do? I can’t just destroy them; if he found the smashed pieces and everything else gone, he’d know someone was here who knew about these—there’s not that many people around who know what these things are.”

Both birds lit themselves on fire. I stumbled back away from the flames. Ten years of being bonded to a phoenix, and I still forgot I was fireproof.

“All right! I’ll leave it to you two when I’m done.”

The birds, apparently done with their talk about manipulative bearded wizards, flew up to the higher parts of the office, where Dumbledore lived. What havoc they were planning on causing, I didn’t know.

The first thing I did was to cancel all charms on the desk. Aside from the tracking devices, there was only one: a sturdy sticking charm on the bottom drawer. I emptied all the books, papers, parchments, and odds and ends in the rest of the desk, and yanked open the drawer. I’m not sure what I was expecting: maybe ancient books or scrolls full of hidden knowledge? A diary full of his evil plans? Details of Harry’s situation with the Dursleys, or notes about my summoning?

Why Dumbledore felt the need to secure his lemon drops so, I wasn’t sure. I took them anyway, just to spite him.

I moved on from his desk, figuring I’d go over everything later when I wasn’t on a time limit. I hit the bookshelves next, removing everything. I paused before going on, and, after thinking it over, shrunk and stuffed the bookshelves into my pockets too.

They were very nice bookshelves.

The little caches of strange things he had hidden all over all the place were the next to go. That is, the things hidden in the caches, not the caches themselves. I wasn’t about to try to fit every nook and cranny in Hogwarts in my pockets. Things like his pensieve, however, I definitely nicked. That was important. Of course, I would have to give it back to the next headmaster, as it technically belonged to Hogwarts.

The Fawkes’ were waiting for me. They were impatiently perched on the edge of Dumbledore’s rather lumpy bed, staring at me and ruffling their feathers.

“Crrrirk?” asked the one on the right. I think it was mine, but I wasn’t entirely certain.

“What?” I asked. “Something important?”

They tilted their heads in unison and chirped again. It was a tad bit eerie, even after dealing with (and being) a twin(s) for so long.

Fawkes (right) chirped a third time, hopped off the bed, and flew over to a large, violently painted tapestry which looked like someone had thrown up on it. Repeatedly. He prodded it once, spat some flame on it, and waited until the fire had died down, leaving nothing but ashes behind.

There was a hidden archway. And, presumably, a hidden room behind the hidden archway. That was usually the way of things.

Fawkes (right) hopped through the archway. It glowed gold, and then faded. So the room was warded, was it? It must have some impressive goodies in there if Dumbledore warded it. He didn’t expect people to have another phoenix, and the only other way to enter his office was by passing the gargoyle or climbing through the window. Actually…I now had a way to get in here whenever I needed to and Fawkes was busy.

“The window!” I said jubilantly, earning strange looks from the feathered counterparts. “Sorry. Don’t mind me. Any idea what’s in here?”

Both birds shook their heads.

Interesting.

I strolled toward the room, and cautiously took a step through the archway. The room had obviously not been used in a long time; everything was dusty, and the place stank of mildew. There was one fresh set of footprints, but they led back out of the room and matched Dumbledore’s heeled boots.

“No…bloody…way…” I muttered. The things in here— “Fawkes? Am I seeing things?”

A phoenix perched on each shoulder. Both chirped.

An old mirror on a tall, elegantly carved frame stood in the corner of the room with the words _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_ set deep in the top. Opposite that was a simple wood box with a glass top, housing a blood red, glittering stone. The Sword of Gryffindor (blimey, it looked strange sitting here gathering dust instead of strapped to Neville’s back) was hanging on a wall.

“This is…” I couldn’t find words. “I thought the Flamels gave up the stone. I should’ve known better.

Both birds leaned forward and simultaneously crooned right in my ear (and the hole in my head). Normally it would have sounded reassuring, but right then I would have swatted the pair of them if I hadn’t been so shocked. Fawkes likes to be loud.

One of the Fawkes (left) stiffened. He pecked me on the top of my head— _hard_.

“Ow!” I yelped, waving my arms to no avail. I had been trying to dislodge them, but the phoenixes were surprisingly heavy, and they clearly weren’t going anywhere.

The other Fawkes (my Fawkes) also stiffened. He sent me a picture of Dumbledore chatting to the Gargoyle—

“ _F*ck!_ ” I cried, racing around frantically, shrinking and shoving the priceless artifacts into my pockets in a way which would have given every person in the world heart attacks if they saw how I was treating these things. The stone wasn’t a problem, and—surprisingly—the sword wasn’t either. Shrinking the mirror took a few tries, but I managed it.

A minute later and I was back in Dumbledore’s living quarters. I used my wand, checked the books for charms, and summoned them off the shelves. Then, for the heck of it, and because Fawkes was going to destroy it all anyway, I summoned everything else from his quarters—and office. I had thought I had everything from his office, but figured it was better safe than sorry—and right I was.

I wasn’t surprised by all the knickknacks Dumbles had hidden around his place, but I _was_ surprised when dozens of loudly griping portraits zoomed into my pockets.

Fawkes (mine) gave me an irritated glance; although how I had managed to forget the constantly complaining headmasters and headmistresses was beyond even me.

The rooms were bare. It was me, the two birds, and a pair of footsteps slowly coming up the stairs below.

My second-to-last last thought before the birds flamed me out was that I really hoped they knew where they were going. I didn’t need to get splinched because of faulty phoenixes.

My last thought was how beautiful Dumbles’ office was when everything simultaneously burst into flames. I almost wanted to cry from the laughter.

~!~

Fortunately for me, the phoenixes did seem to know where they were going. The Fawkes’ dropped me off at my house, right in the library.

I looked around the room. For a charmed hall closet, it was coming along nicely—Dibbley was obviously working very hard. It was huge, about thirty square feet, and every inch of the walls was lined with tall shelves, most of which were already full with books or scrolls. There were three more rows of bookcases lined across the middle of the room, front to back, which were also mostly filled up. Good Merlin. Did I really have that many books?

Well. Now I had a whole lot more.

The birds hopped off my shoulders and flew up to perch on the shelves.

“Are you leaving?” I asked the one I was pretty certain wasn’t mine. “You’ll have to ask your counterpart, but I don’t mind you sticking around.”

The phoenixes looked at each other.

“Crkkk,” Fawkes (mine) cooed.

The other one responded, “Crrrk?”

They both looked back at me.

“I suppose you could do whatever you want and stop by when you feel like it,” I caved. It would be useful having two phoenixes around—useful, but annoying. One Fawkes was enough of a handful.

The bird (not mine) perked up, gave a cheery whistle, and flamed away.

“And that’s that,” I said to the remaining Fawkes.

He tilted his head, and looked at me patronizingly. I groaned, and started taking the things out of my pockets.

Most of the books appeared to be about Alchemy, which was good. I didn’t know much about Alchemy. I haphazardly plopped the bookshelves any place I could fit them, and with a flick of my wand, the books and scrolls zoomed onto them in no particular order. I sent the portraits, knickknacks, pensieve, artifacts, and other things into my workroom.

I was about to go sort those things when a very irate elf popped in. Apparently, Dobby had neglected to tell me Dibbley had a temper. Which was probably why he’d been free.

“Master George leave bookroom sortings to Dibbley!” The elf stomped his spindly foot. “Dibbley spend all night on prettying bookroom—now you’s cluttering it ups!”

I put my hands up, hoping to placate the elf. “Sorry, Dibbley! I’m not normally that organized a person, I didn’t think about it. Sorry.”

“Master George should let Dibbley know before he get more books!”

I sheepishly scratched my head. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing. It looks like you did a very nice job, though.”

He stared at me through narrowed eyes.

“And since you did such a nice job,” I went on. “Maybe you could tell me how you had things sorted? And, maybe, sort these things too?”

“Dibbley sort by subject, then writer.”

He’d sorted by subject? That was actually rather clever. It should be far easier to find things when I needed them, that’s for sure. Looking back, I probably should have done that to my things ages ago.

“That’s brilliant, Dibbley. Can you…?”

He relented, albeit slowly. “’Tis Dibbley’s job to sort and clean bookroom. But Dibbley not finish storeroom yet.”

Sweet Merlin. He’d already moved to the storeroom? Elves were speedy little things. “You can finish it later. If you come across any books with curses, don’t touch them. I don’t think there are any, but better safe than sorry.”

The elf nodded. I Apparated to my workroom to sort out the—

“Wow,” I said.

All the stuff I had materialized there was scattered everywhere. Otherwise, the room was even more organized than the library. Dibbley had set all my measuring tools and cheat-sheets out on the counters in organized piles, and cleaned my cauldrons. He’d watered the plants (which looked a good deal healthier for it), set the cages up for little animals, and enlarged the windows for better natural lighting.

“The cages can’t have shaved bedding in them,” I muttered to myself. Well, I only planned on using _the Prophet_ for laughs, so I could tell Dibbley to use that for the Pygmy Puffs.

I assumed Dibbley would figure out a way to sort the loot from Dumbles, so I didn’t touch it. The only thing I did do was conjure a sheet and use a sticking charm to adhere it to the Mirror. I had never looked into the mirror myself, but I knew exactly what I’d see, and I didn’t need to be distracted now.

Especially not by that.

The silver blood ward thingies (even I wasn’t really sure what they were—normally I’d ask Bill, but I seriously doubted this one had studied dark magic yet) were still beeping and whirling and doing whatever silver blood ward thingies do. I threw them on the ground and stomped on them, grinning wider at every crunch.

With that taken care of, I went to get the twins.

~!~

Tom poured more firewhiskey into my empty cup. I downed it, and he absentmindedly filled it again.

Bill watched me with a cautious, worried look. “George. You alright? That’s your fifth shot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Are you alright?”

I checked to make sure the privacy ward was still up. “No. No, I’m not—I just got dragged to another world where everyone I hate is still alive, Fred’s not dead but he’s not my twin either, Mum’s a total fireball, and I’m supposed to fix everything. I miss my kids, I want to go home, I really wish you were about fifteen years older, and I wish my alcohol tolerance was way lower.”

“George, Weasleys can’t hold their alcohol. You—”

“Long time tolerance build up, Bill.”

He was quiet for a moment as that sunk in.

I coughed out a shaky laugh. My cheeks were damp. Unfortunately, I still wasn’t drunk yet. “Merlin’s frilly pink panties, that makes me sound like a right old drunkard. I’m not, by the way. It’s just—every time it hurt, every time someone died, someone else broke out the firewhiskey. Drink a shot or five pretty much every day, you get used to it.”

He looked at me. His eyes were half-lidded, which meant he was thinking hard. “Tell me about them.”

Tom filled my glass again.

“About who?”

“Your kids. You said you had two.”

“I already talked about them.”

“You told the twins. I want to hear it.”

I sighed and set down my cup. “Freddie’s eight years old. He’s going to be nine soon, in my time—March 10th’s his birthday. He looks a lot like Fre—d.” I hiccupped. There was a tiny buzz in the back of my brain. Sweet, sweet Merlin’s baggy pants, why was the alcohol not working yet? “Roxanne just turned seven three months ago. She looks like—forget it.”

“No, I want to know. Unless it hurts?”

I shook my head. My eyesight was blurry now, but that was from restrained tears, not drunkenness. Thankfully the only people there were me, Bill, and a half-awake Tom.

“Nah. Just—don’t tell anyone, ok?”

Bill nodded.

“Right. Well, Angelina Johnson—she was in my year, played on the team with us. Fred dated her for a bit—not serious, though. The whole Quidditch team was kind of—” I stopped talking. My face burned, and Bill grinned.

“Quality team time, huh?”

“Er…let’s just say the girls were enthusiastic if we won, and leave it at that. Anyway, after Fred…you know…she and I kind of started it up. Not sure why, I think everyone just expected us to and we caved to the pressure. One thing led to another, and Freddie shows up, then Roxie. Three years ago I realize we’re happiest when I’m working all day and Angelina’s away with the Harpies, so we talked. She agreed with me, but she got really sick, so we went to St. Mungo’s. Turned out someone had placed an obsession charm on her keyed to me and him.”

Bill closed his eyes. “Sweet Merlin. Really?”

“Yep. Anyway, we’re still friends, but we don’t have time to talk much. We swap the kids every week, unless one of us is too busy.”

“Did you ever find out who cast it? And why?”

I nodded and stared glumly at my cup. I pulled out my wand and jabbed at the wards. They fell with a few sparks. “Tom, can we have a room?”

The bartender jerked away from where he’d been sleeping against the counter. “Huh? Wha? Oh, yeah. Sure. Jus’…go pick one.”

Bill led me upstairs. I swore I was fine, but he refused to let go of me anyway until we were in a room.

“Ge0rge, drunk or not, you’re a mess. You’re crying, you’re shaking, and I don’t think you slept last night.”

I shook my head and fell back on the lumpy bed. “Nuh-uh. Too busy. I had the twins warding the rest of the house—the windows and stuff. They got a few rooms done before I kicked ‘em to bed. I spent the rest of the night working on work stuff.”

I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to the Hat yet, unfortunately, but the night had still be lucrative.

“Work stuff?” he asked. “For the shop?”

“Yeah. Wanna reopen it, have the twins keep it up. ‘Sides…”

“It’s the shop.” He sat down next me. “So. My niece and nephew. Come on, tell me more.”

I groaned. “Bill—”

“No,” he said. “George, I know you’re probably a lot more experienced with grieving than I am, but I know you, and I know right now you need someone to trust, and I know you need to talk. Say whatever you want. I’m not telling anyone.”

This was why Bill and I had stayed in touch. Even now, when I was nine years older than him, he was still the big brother. The most responsible Weasley, the one everyone went to when they needed…

“I don’t need to talk.”

“That’s a load of dragon dung and you know it.”

I pulled myself into a sitting position using the rickety headboard. I got a handful of splinters for my efforts. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Oi! I’m legitimate!”

I snorted. “Barely. Three months after the wedding doesn’t cut it, mate.”

“Quit distracting me.”

“Fine. Freddie…Freddie’s clever. I mean, really, really clever. He’s not as outgoing as we were, but he loves taking things apart and putting them back together in brilliant ways—to cause trouble, of course.” My eyes crossed as I pictured my son. “He’s—that’s what he is, Bill. Just brilliant.”

“Mmm. You’re not going sappy at all, are you?”

I punched him. “Shut it. You’re the idiot who asked.”

“True. What about the other one? Roxanne?”

“Oh sweet Merlin,” I said. “She’s a troublemaker. Gets into _everything_ she shouldn’t. Talks back a lot more than Freddie, too—but she’s not mean about it. It’s actually really funny when she’s not being frustrating.”

Bill didn’t say anything for a minute. “Did I—?”

“I’m not telling you whether or not you had any kids.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

There was a pause.

“So…you promised to explain some things. I hope they don’t include more firewhiskey and grownup talks.”

I snorted. “The first, probably. The second, no. Tell me, Bill—what do you think of Dumbledore?”

He frowned. “Eh…I think he could have done a lot more for the war effort. I think there’s a lot of things he should have done anyway. Sirius, for instance. He was Chief Warlock for years, and Sirius never had a trial. I don’t get that. And Mum. She’s always talking about how wonderful he is—I get worried sometimes. She never thinks when it comes to him—says he’s got to be right all the time.”

“So it’s no surprise to you that he’s planning to get back on top of the world and continue ruling it like he has been?”

“…Not really.”

“Right. First of all, I need you to _quietly_ get someone from the DMLE looking into Harry’s home situation. Tonks and Moody should be able to help you with that—just tell them you think the Dursleys are abusing him and that, theoretically, the blood wards are useless since Riddle used Harry’s blood to resurrect himself.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot up. “The blood wards? I told Dumbledore they were never a good idea. But—if You—Riddle…can walk right through them, why hasn’t he?”

I shrugged. “Might not know. Anyway, it gets worse.”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“There are no blood wards. He only had watch wards—of a sort—on him.”

“He _what_?! The blood wards were bad enough—but _watch wards_?”

“Yeah. So he knew _exactly_ what Harry’s been going through at the Dursleys. Did you know when we got him fourth year, there were bars on his window?”

Bill growled, which brought back rather unpleasant memories of sitting at his bedside after his face had been ripped up.

“There were half a dozen locks on his door—keeping him in—and a cat flap for food to be passed through.”

“I’ll get Tonks and Moody in on this no problem.”

“Try Kingsley, too. Just make them swear not to tell Dumbles. Did you know that for his first ten years there, he lived in a cupboard under the stairs?”

Bill tensed. He slowly forced himself to exhale, and his shoulders relaxed marginally. “I don’t think I’m really surprised. Always knew something was wrong with that kid—I mean at home. And Dumbledore’s interest in him—prophecy or not, it’s not right. It’s almost sick. Harry’s just a kid, he—”

“The prophecy!” I stared at Bill. “The—I knew I forgot something. That’s in the Department of Mysteries, right?”

Bill narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

I smiled winningly. “Because no one has to guard or attack a prophecy that’s not there.”

He stared at me. “…What?”

“Nothing.”

Bill spluttered. “But—you’re joking. You can’t _break into_ the Ministry!”

“Already did. Ah, I…” I grimaced. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You—you—you’re impossible.”

“No, I’m mad.”

He collapsed forward, and his head smacked loudly into his waiting palms. “Yes. Yes, you are. Ok, so you already broke into the Ministry. I don’t want to know why.”

I grinned sheepishly. I hadn’t meant to let that little tidbit slip, but I suppose it could be used to see whether or not Bill would tattle.

He groaned into his hands. “You broke into the Ministry.”

“That reminds me. I should say hi to Percy,” I said.

“You sure about that? He really doesn’t want to see any of us right now.”

I remembered Percy’s betrayal well enough—one of the last things Fred had done was welcomed Perce back to the family. My twin had stayed with Percy the rest of the night—stuck to his side like a determined piece of spell-o-tape until the explosion.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bill said. “I’m not telling you what to do. You probably won’t listen anyway. Just—I want to know what you’re doing with the twins.”

I shrugged. “Like I said, I had them warding the house last night. Small things, like window sills and doorframes. Simple runes. It’s good practice, and I didn’t tell them how it actually works, so I’m interested to see how much actual work gets done ‘til they raid my library to find the runes.”

Bill snorted. “You want my help?”

“I want you to get moving on the Triple-Wards.”

“Alright, fine. I can go through the goblins—”

I didn’t trust the goblins. It was hard to get a solid deal from them, and I’d never bothered trying before. Bill might be able to, since he was used to them, but I’d be staying far away.

“—or I can try to find an independent dealer.”

“Or,” I said. “You and your team could _become_ independent dealers.”

He stilled as he thought about it. “You actually think one ward system would summon enough income to make it worthwhile for half a dozen curse breakers?”

“Sure. We did pretty well last time. And I could slip to Skeeter about it; that’d help.”

“Yeah…about that—are you sure she won’t do anything to you? I mean, I know she’s been keeping low regarding Harry or Dumbledore, but…”

I flicked my wand to brighten the lights. “We have an…arrangement.”

He didn’t look reassured. “Right. So, you want me to convince the team to sell the wards.”

“Yep.”

“Right. I can to talk to them about it. Now, you said something about the prophecy?”

I kept my face steady. “I thought you didn’t want to know?”

He growled. “Goddamn it, George! Stop being so bloody difficult! Sweet Merlin, mate, when was the last time you actually got to sleep?”

“I told you, night before last. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“Fine, then. You’re going to run yourself into the ground, you know.”

I’d heard this from him before, but I couldn’t help it. Either I slept, or I didn’t. I tended to forget if I was busy, but most nights were fairly restless for me anyway, between the nightmares and the never-ending remembrance of the war.

He sighed. “Fine. What about the prophecy?”

“Dumbledore knows it, Snape and Riddle know some of it, and I know what it means.”

I waited for him to absorb that.

“But…” he frowned and shook his head. “Snape? I don’t—none of that makes sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t make sense,” I said. “It’s a prophecy.”

He shook his head again. “George, there are two prophecies.”

My world stuttered to halt.

Two. Two prophecies. How on Earth could there be—? _Two_? What by sweet Merlin’s holy knickers… _two_ prophecies? No. Just…no. I couldn’t handle…

“What’s the second one about?” My throat felt like someone had just poured the drought of living death down it.

Bill shrugged. “No one knows. It showed up in the Ministry, but the closest anyone got to hearing it was McGonagall when she walked in on Trelawney giving the tail end of it.”

I swore loudly enough to wake the magic mirror on the wall. “That’s not good. Any idea what it says, or who’s it for? Any idea at all?”

“Nope. No one ever found it in the Ministry—at least, none of us. We heard it was there, because there was a big to-do about it. No one was paying attention; they almost lost it.”

A prophecy…I could try asking Croaker about it. He was head of the department—he should know a thing or two.

“Ok,” I said. “So there’s a second prophecy. We don’t know that it’s necessarily important to us, or if it’ll even take place within a thousand years. So…the one concerning Harry. Do you know what it says?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Only Dumbledore knows. And, apparently, Snape.”

“Snape only knows part of it. You don’t need to worry about that; I’ll be changing the future up pretty quickly, so if I can help it, there won’t even be a war. And in that case…” I rubbed my hands together, and gave him a crazy grin. “Wanna see the twins?”

He snorted. “Right. Before we do…listen, George, I barely know you. And you’re, what, fifteen years from the future? And from another world. I want to see how you work, and I want to know what your plans are. I don’t need details, and I won’t tell anyone, but I want to make sure the twins won’t get hur—in any trouble.”

“I won’t hurt them!” What kind of self-harming, suicidal idiot did he take me for? It had been years—never mind.

“I know that, idiot.” Bill rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant. But if you’re involved in something dangerous—which you are—you know just as well as I do the twins will jump in headfirst. Or you should. It has been a while since you were seventeen.”

I grimaced. “It hasn’t been that long.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“…Fine. Shall we go?”

~!~

I hadn’t exactly been preparing for any visitors, so the house wasn’t…well, it was exactly the same as it had been when I left. Which is probably what it would’ve looked like if I had been expecting to bring Bill over…

Not that it mattered.

“Oi! Wake up!” I banged my fist on the twins’ door. “We got company!”

“Nice place,” Bill said, eyebrows raised as he took in the hallway. “Are those space extension runes?”

“Yep. For the library and storeroom. And possibly other things as well—I kind of let Dibbley decorate how he wanted.”

“Dibbley? You have an elf?”

“Six, actually.” I banged on the door again. “If you’re not downstairs in five minutes, I’m coming in and hexing you two!”

There was a loud thump.

“Take off your cauldron,” someone muttered. “We’re up.”

“Come on,” I said to Bill. “We’ll wait downstairs.”

“So…how are you planning to handle Hogwarts with Dumbledore there?” Bill asked as we made our way down.

The second stair from the bottom gave a loud squeak as I stepped on it. “Planning on warding my rooms like crazy. I doubt the twins will want to leave Gryffindor Tower, but if he tries anything tricky they’re not getting a choice. Otherwise…well, I’m not really letting them out of my sight.”

Bill laughed. “They’re going to be thrilled.”

“They’re going to deal with it until I know they can handle themselves.”

“Right.” He paused, looking unsure. “George…except for being slightly drunk at seven in the morning, you seem a lot better than yesterday.”

Did I? That was good. “Really?”

“Yeah…you told me you were about to have a…breakdown…” He scratched the back of his head. “Could you expand on exactly what that means? It doesn’t sound good.”

Right. I’d forgotten just how bad yesterday had been. Could I tell Bill, explain to him exactly what my life had been like the past twelve years? More importantly, could I do it without worrying him too much or causing another episode?

I sighed, and sat down heavily in a chair. “Bill, after Fred…you know… _died_ , everything went back to normal.”

He blinked. “Normal? But—”

“Yeah, that was the problem. Everyone was trying to make it seem normal. Ron used to stop by at least twice a week to tell me ‘straighten out and get back to normal so Mum wouldn’t worry’. The problem was, my normal was _dead_.” My voice was hollow. My throat burned. “I never cried for Fred, not really. I couldn’t. It was…it was like a never-ending nightmare, like he was just around the corner but I could never find him. Losing him—losing the person I’d been with since before I was literally _born_ —Bill, it was horrible.”

My hands were clammy, and I could barely see. I felt a calloused hand rest on my shoulder and gently squeeze. I needed to stop talking—my dignity couldn’t take it, my paranoia couldn’t take it, every instinct I’d gained during the war was telling me to _just shut up_ , but I couldn’t.

This was Bill. I’d talked to Bill before—told him exactly this, so many times before—but this Bill had only met me a few days ago. Yet I’d already taken the leap. I’d taken him to my house, I’d told him what had happened, and now I was telling him literally everything. I was treating him like I had my brother—like I trusted him.

Did I trust him?

“I didn’t—I couldn’t—Mum and Dad had lost almost everything. It was me who stayed and helped them, when everyone else went back to their own lives, it was me who stayed. I didn’t grieve, because I was too busy cooking and cleaning and lending a shoulder or an ear—I never stopped. It wasn’t just Mum and Dad, either—Percy hasn’t looked me in the face for twelve years, but I visited him every day until he met Au—his wife. When Angelina was gone for weeks at a time ‘cause of practice, it was me who watched the kids. I—” My voice broke. “I didn’t give myself time. So…it tended to build up. Still does. And then it just—explodes. Or wears off—both have happened.”

There was no noise from either of us for a horribly long moment. The sitting room seemed too large and empty, and I found myself missing the flat more than I could have imagined.

“So that’s it?” he finally asked.

I inhaled. The faint aroma of toast and bacon was slowly saturating the room, and a small trail of smoke was leaking from the kitchen. “I…yeah. I guess. Everyone tried to give me time—Dad insisted. But…I dunno…it didn’t work. Being alone, not doing anything…”

“Right,” he said. “Well, I highly doubt that’s going to happen now. You’re watching the twins, after all.” He paused. “Merlin, George, they’ve just got to make it worse. How do you…?”

I shrugged. “Same way I can look in the mirror.” That was a lie. I could only occasionally look in the mirror. “I know they’re not him. It’s been too long, anyway—we’d changed so much by the time we were twenty that they’re literally different people.”

Bill was quiet a moment longer. “Can I—how’d he—?”

“Die?” A large lump was stuck in my throat, and I bitterly wished I had more Firewhiskey. Or something interesting to do, like rob Dumbledore again.

Where was Fawkes, anyway?

I tried to swallow the lump, and severely regretted it. “He—died in an explosion.”

A warm breeze drifted about the room, ruffling our hair as if comforting us. Bill didn’t move, and neither did I.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice was hollow and hoarse. “Merlin, George, I’m so…so sorry. Has it always…?”

“Ever since,” I whispered back.

We jumped suddenly at the sound of thumps coming down the stairs. The twins pounded down the steps, looking absolutely exhausted; Junior was wearing his shirt inside out, and Fred had a pillow crease on his cheek.

“Morning,” I said, not bothering to sound cheerful.

“Morning to you, too,” Fred said. “So, are we going to Harry’s funeral after all?”

I blinked, and looked at Bill. “Wha…?”

Bill tossed me his sobering potion. “Harry’s trial.”

It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about. Harry hadn’t had to worry about Ministry trials since the war. “Oh yeah…what was it again? Dementors?”

Bill nodded as the twins made their way to the table. Plates of steaming food appeared before us all, even Bill.

“Yep. Dumbledore—” Here everyone looked at me expectantly. “—Dumbledore’s going to be his defense.”

“That ought to go over well,” I mumbled. I knew Harry had come away from this one relatively unscathed, so I wasn’t too worried about Dumbledore, but I was positive there was something about this trial I should have remembered…then again, it’s not like I routinely hung out at the Wizengamot during my teenage years to watch the trials of famous heroes. All the same…

I nibbled my toast thoughtfully.

“You aren’t going to do anything?” Junior wanted to know.

“Nope,” I said.

“But it’s Dumbledore!”

“Yeah, and Dumbledore wants to keep Harry in Hogwarts, so he’s going to make sure this trial goes his way.”

The twins looked confused (and even more tired), but Bill nodded in understanding.

“’Tis a shame, though,” he said. “I mean, it’d be interesting to see how he’d handle it being sabotaged. I’d give the matter more thought, but I don’t want to risk Harry getting expelled.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Just imagine, if we could change the time or something without him knowing it, then he’d show up late. The Wizengamot would probably continue right along without—”

Uh-oh.

I dropped my toast (which landed in my coffee), and pushed my way off my chair. I gulped down the sobering potion (not that I needed it. Just in case) and started running upstairs. “Bill! Gotta go! Watch the twins for me?”

I didn’t stick around for his answer. Instead, I raced headfirst into the bathroom, stripped as fast as I could, and plunged into the shower. It was ice cold, which meant I’d need to either research plumbing or hire a professional. The only thing I knew about plumbing was how to rig a toilet with explosives.

I washed as quickly as I could and hopped out after a record time of two minutes. My skin was blue, but I somehow managed to get dressed and brush my teeth and hair enough so that I looked halfway presentable.

Making my way towards my room, I called, “Dobby!”

The elf popped next to me. “Yes, Master Wheezy George?”

Oh, not again. “Dobby, it’s not—oh, never mind. Do you know what I should wear to a Wizengamot trial?”

Dobby nodded vigorously. “Yes Master Wheezy George! Dobby knows.”

I marched into the bedroom and started shifting through the wardrobe. “Do I have anything that could work?”

Dobby peered into the closet, winced, and shook his head. “Nope, sir. Dobby can get some.”

“How quickly?”

“When does Master Wheezy George need his robes?”

“Today?”

Dobby grimaced. “No. Dobby cannot get any robes. Dobby a bad elf!”

He looked ready to grab a lamp and start whacking himself, so I quickly grabbed his shoulder instead. “No, Dobby! Listen, um—Bill—my brother—is here. Help him keep an eye on the twins, all right? And…and if Sippy argues, then just help Bill.”

Dobby nodded again, and popped off. I spun on my heel and Apparated downstairs.

The twins were in the middle of a discussion with Bill, but the moment I appeared, they all jumped up.

“Something’s happening at the trial?” Bill guessed.

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at my watches. I had a half hour to get Harry and go. “I’m heading to Grimmauld—you two listen to Bill. He can help you with the rest of the runes.”

All three of them immediately started protesting.

“Fine!” I said. “Fine, you can go to Grimmauld, but I’m not helping with Mum. I’ve got to go!”

I snatched up another piece of toast and Apparated out.

~!~

Grimmauld Place was cold, dark, and seemingly empty. It was times like this I really wished I had something like Moody’s eye so I didn’t have to search the house.

“Sirius!” I called. “Sirius, you here?”

There was a thump, a crack, and Sirius appeared on the stairs. He gave a mighty yawn.

“George? What is it?”

“Do you have any robes I could wear to a Wizengamot trial?”

He frowned. “Yeah. My brother had a ton, and no one’s touched his room yet. Why?”

I bolted up the stairs. “No time! Tell you later.”

Regulus Black’s room was near Sirius’ on the third floor, down the hall and around a few corners from where the twins (and me) had stayed. I bumped into Harry on my way up.

“Harrykins!” I said. “Brilliant timing. Come with me.”

I dragged the complaining kid into the room, which was probably the cleanest room in the house, thanks to Kreacher’s creepy devotion to the guy. The wardrobe was against the far wall, and (thankfully) its doors weren’t glued shut, as I had feared.

“What are you doing?” Harry hissed. “I’ve got the trial today!”

“I know,” I said, digging through the piles of robes and trying to find some which would fit both of us. “They changed the time; they’re trying to throw you and Dumbledore off. It’s at eight. Luckily, I’m prepared, so we have lots of time and nothing to worry about.”

Harry looked slightly more panicked, not really relieved, and not at all convinced. “Really?”

“No, but I know exactly what to do, so don’t worry.”

“I’m going to get expelled!” he said, cheeks and ears turning a brilliant shade of magenta.

“No, you’re not,” I muttered. “Just do exactly what I say—say yes when I nod my head at you, and no when I shake it—got it? Ah-ha!” I pulled out two sets of robes. “Here, put this on.”

He did so without complaint, slipping the slightly too-large garment over his clothes. He would’ve looked better if it wasn’t black, but I didn’t think he’d want to show up in bright plum. “Why?”

My robes were practically identical to his, just slightly longer. It was surprising Harry hadn’t asked who these belonged to…but he was used to wearing the Dursleys’ hand-me-downs. Wearing a dead man’s robes mustn’t be that different. “I’m your defense, and I plan to lie my arse off. If I defame Dumbledore, he knows about it, so don’t worry.”

Might as well start lying my arse off now.

The teen looked horrified. “But—”

“Ah-ah, Harry,” I said, buttoning the last button and wagging a finger at him. “Fudge is going to go hard on you. Just do as I say, all right?”

He frowned. “All right?”

“Brilliant. Don’t throw up.” I grabbed his arm and Apparated downstairs.

He collapsed in a rather inelegant pile atop the table. “Wha—what was _that_?”

“Ah, Harry, your first apparation!” Sirius said, beaming. “I was hoping that would be me, but I suppose a Weasley twin will do just as well.”

I inhaled the rest of my toast (which tasted a bit funny after a dump in a coffee cup, two apparation attempts, and three minutes in a wardrobe). “We’ve got five minutes. Eat breakfast and go brush your teeth.”

Harry gave me a creeped-out look, and warily picked up a piece of toast just as Mum spun into the room.

“Oh! Harry! _George_!”

“Morning Mum,” I said. “They changed the time, we’ve got twenty minutes ‘til it starts.”

Her hands flew to her face. “What? No! But Dumbledore—”

“Assigned me to defense instead,” I said, my face straight as ever. “He can’t make it that early, and I’ve won defense before.”

She blinked, the floating tray of eggs and bacon forgotten. “What? You’ve gone up against Amelia Bones before?”

I summoned a piece of bacon, tapped it with my wand, and inhaled it. The continuous smell of food was making me hungry. “Nope. She died before I left school, but I’ve gone up the Wizengamot before. Ki—the Minister at the time needed my help to verify a few things.” True, that, but everyone had agreed with Kingsley even before he brought me and Harry out. Umbridge had paid with much more than a few lines, that day.

Mum gaped. “The Wizengamot? But Harry just has a small trial.”

Harry, Sirius, and Dad (who’d just come into the room) were all staring at me.

“Like I said, they changed the time. It also happens to be in front of the entire Wizengamot. Fudge wants Harry expelled—and so does Lucius Malfoy.”

“But Dumbledore—” Dad began.

“Put me as defense!” I said, growing readily tired of the questioning. Merlin knew I’d have enough later when Dumbledore showed me as a liar. “Harry, that’s enough. Go brush your teeth.”

The kid dropped his toast and ran upstairs, face white and eyes wide. I prayed he would keep a cool head and listen to me.

Sirius cocked his head. I couldn’t read his expression. “Will the twins be stopping by?”

Mum’s eyes grew beady, and I bit back a groan.

“Yeah, ‘course. Bill’s with them. They’re eating breakfast now, they’ll be by later.”

Mum’s glare intensified, and she opened her mouth.

“Ah, gotta go! See you later!” I turned and bolted for the stairs.

Harry was spitting into the sink when I raced into the bathroom. He ignored me as I slammed the door shut and clicked the lock. He didn’t look up until he was done.

“Geo—er…Mr. Weasley, what’s the Wizengamot?”

Right. Harry didn’t know squat about the magical government; just great. I inhaled deeply, and tried to take comfort in the fact that he had survived this once before, and with Dumbledore on his case.

“It’s a judicial branch of wizarding government. Dumbledore was Chief Warlock—head of it—until about a week ago. Now it’s pending. Anyway, Harry; Amelia Bones is the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She’s stern but fair, and you can bet your britches she’s as upset about the trial change as we are. The important thing to remember is to keep your temper in check. I know this summer’s been hard—tell me about it—but we can’t have you expelled.”

Harry’s face was still white, and I think that’s the only reason he didn’t start yelling then and there. Which brought to mind; where were Ron and Hermione? You’d think his best friends would do their damn best to wake up on the day the boy-who-lived might well be expelled.

“So what do I do?” he asked. “Just tell them what happened?”

“Answer yes or no to questions. Fudge is probably going to be giving them so fast you won’t have time to speak, and I’ll be the one trying to slow him down. Now, Harry, this is the part you won’t like.”

This was also the part where’d I’d be as manipulative as a snake. Not like Dumbledore, however, because I was completely prepared to explain things to the kid afterwards and not treat him like a delicate five year old.

“What part?”

I took another deep breath, and turned to face him head on. Merlin, he was scrawny. He barely came to my chin, and I, being several inches shorter then Ron, was around average height and had nothing to boast about. “Dumbledore came up with a plan, but it’s tricky. You and I are going to lie our arses off, and we have to make it convincing, all right?”

He blinked.

“Our story is that you were in so much shock from seeing Cedric be killed that you have no clear idea what happened, and you think you may have passed out or been affected by some sort of poison. Dumbledore saw what happened, found the Death Eater, and jumped to conclusions. He spirited you away to your relatives as quickly as he could, where you had no contact with the outer world for the rest of the summer.”

Harry frowned. “The last part’s true, but we have to tell them about Volde—”

“Riddle,” I corrected. “And no, we don’t.”

He opened his mouth.

“Harry, shut it and listen to me. Dumbledore told everyone, and they chose not to believe him. There’s nothing more we can do unless Riddle himself makes it known, and I plan to kill him before he does that, so _you have NOTHING to worry about_.”

A bit of color appeared in the kid’s cheeks. I hoped it was from relief, and not anger.

“Because of this, Dumbledore cooked up another plan, but we need you to defame him in front of everyone, because Riddle needs to think everyone—you included—believes you hallucinated or something and Dumbledore’s a crackpot old fool.” Which he was. Well, an old crackpot. Dumbles was rarely a fool. “All right?”

Harry’s mouth opened and closed, making him look like a silenced Fwooper. “What? But…what about Dumbledore?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. He didn’t say. I do promise you one thing, though.”

That caught his attention. “What?”

“If we make it through this, I’ll tell you everything I know about what’s going on. Probably at Hogwarts, since we don’t have much time left here.”

He lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?”

“Really really. I’ll even get Bill in on it—he thinks you ought to know.”

“But Dumbledore—”

I had forgotten just how devoted to the White Bee the kid was. Dumbledore’s man through and through, it had been said. I really had my work cut out for me.

“—Doesn’t need to know what won’t hurt him.” I winked, and he gave me a small grin. The kid was the son of Prongs and Lily Evans, after all; he liked knowing things, and he wouldn’t tell anyone that he did know if they’d try to punish him for it.

“Cool,” Harry said. “But…the trial?”

I glanced at my watches. It was ten of eight. “Yep, let’s go.”

I offered him my arm like I would a lady, which made him grimace at me, but he took it. Off we popped.

~!~

I Apparated us to security desks. The guard there was half awake, and he had a large blue stain on his lime green robes.

“George Weasley and Harry Potter,” I said. “Here for a disciplinary hearing.”

“Mmhmm,” he muttered, fishing around under the desk. He pulled out two badges, and handed them to us. “Wands.”

I gave him mine (not Fred’s, because it was that one which had some…slightly illegal…spells on it), and Harry, imitating me, set his on the desk as well. The guard scanned them, produced the slip of paper, and returned our wands.

“I keep this, you get these back,” he said, his voice sounding like something from the radio on a stormy day. He glanced at Harry. “Hold on a minute…”

“Moving on,” I said, gripping Harry’s soldiers and directing him to the stairs. The lift would be packed this time of day, and would probably be moving slower than one of Hagrid’s giant slugs.

~!~

“Do we have to take the stairs?” Harry complained as we descended the sixth level. “I think I saw a lift back there.”

“You did,” I said, brushing some cobwebs off my robes. “But unless you want to be gawked at by passerby heading to work, you’ll be glad we took the stairs.”

He sneezed, and a column of dust billowed up like a mushroom. “You sure about that?”

We reached the bottom of the seventh level, and I started strolling down the hall. He jogged to follow me, panting slightly. The large doors were directly in front of us, and there were several people in plum colored robes standing nearby. Some I recognized, some I didn’t, and several I did and wished I hadn’t. I couldn’t deal with any loose Death Eaters, but knowing they’d be participating in the trial just made my job at least ten times harder.

Upon seeing some faces (the said death Eaters, though I doubted he recognized them as such), Harry hissed, and put a hand to his scar.

I slowed, and pulled him into a small alcove. “Give me a minute.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small potions bag. Three spots were empty, but I found a numbing salve and handed it to him. “Here, rub this on that. It’ll feel weird, but it should numb it a bit.”

I didn’t know how much use it would be against a horcrux, but it would hopefully do something.

He accepted the salve gratefully, and rubbed it on. “Hey!” he cried. “That’s ice cold!”

“Haven’t you ever used a numbing salve before?”

He shook his head. “No. Hey, it feels better.”

“Brilliant.” I pulled him back out into the hall. More people were in front of the doors now. They seemed to be gathering around something—or someone.

“Honored people of the Wizengamot,” Fudge was saying.

“Hello!” I cried cheerfully, strolling towards them all and ready to burst Fudge’s happy little bubble.

Everyone froze, stopped muttering, and slowly turned to me and Harry. Percy, who was standing next to the Minister, turned purple, and refused to look at us. I’d talk to him later.

“George Weasley and Harry Potter,” I said, coming to a halt in front of a plum colored Fudge (the green hat didn’t match his face or his robes). “Although I’m sure you already knew that. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Minister. How are you this morning? Good, I hope.”

Fudge’s face was now a deeper purple than his robes. “Er—yes,” he stammered. “A good morning it is indeed.”

Ha. More like it _had_ been a good morning, until Harry showed up on time and with me instead of Dumbledore.

“And where might Dumbledore be?” he asked, sure enough. He peered behind me, as if expecting Dumbles to jump out and start tap dancing. Could Dumbledore tap dance? “I thought he was to be Mr. Potter’s defense?”

“Dumbledore has other things to worry about. Mr. Potter requested me. I do hope that is no problem, Minister.”

Fudge swallowed. It looked painful, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

“Er—no, no, not at all, my dear boy. Say, have you met my Undersecretary?” He gestured, and— _she_ came forward. “Dolores Umbridge.”

Harry gagged behind me, and I tried not to snarl at the woman. I clenched my fists. My scars were still there, carved deep by the blood quill: _I will not pull pranks on teachers_.

I forced a smile. “It was a long time ago, and not this one, I’m afraid. How do you do, Madame?”

She forced her lips up over her pointy teeth to form something akin to a smile crossed with a snarl. “Mr. Weasley. I do hope your stay here has been satisfactory?”

Ah… I had wondered whether or not someone would eventually make a dig at the fact that this was not, in fact, my world of origin. Naturally it would be her.

I inclined my head, still not letting go of Harry. “Quite fine, Madame. Now, if you would excuse us?”

I pushed my way past the staring, gaping, and glaring Wizengamot members, making sure to step on a few toes as I did so. (Travers and Wilkes gave distinctly girly squeals.) The doors were waiting for us, large and impossibly dark; I wondered who’d made them. I wanted a slightly smaller pair for the front door.

The doors silently swung open as we approached. Harry glanced at me once, and I gave him a small smile.

His trial would begin in less than five minutes. I wasn’t the least bit prepared. If something went wrong, it would be on my head.

This was going to be fun.


	6. I Humiliate the Ministry

The trial room looked exactly like it always did. Courtroom Ten, the largest in the Ministry, used only for the trials of the very worst criminals. And teenage heroes, apparently. Harry was taking slow, deep breaths beside me. His face had returned to its normal color, and he actually looked quite relaxed, which was good.

The Wizengamot members filed in behind us. I directed Harry to the chair (which I wasn’t happy about, but didn’t see any other option which wouldn’t get us into trouble. Umbridge might like Harry sitting in a pink, fluffy, conjured monstrosity, but I doubted anyone else would). The plum colored witches and wizards climbed up the steps to the high benches. Fudge and the Toad sat directly in the middle, gazing down upon all like a perverse royal couple.

Percy was sitting slightly to Fudge’s left, but all the way at the front, already holding his scroll and quill. His nose was spattered with ink, which might have been stains—it was eight in the morning, after all. He refused to make eye contact with either of us.

I stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide if I really should talk to him after this. He was my brother, but I’d been royally pissed with him when he left the family, and then things had turned awkward after Fred…but he was my brother.

Percy fidgeted, and I turned to Harry.

“Right, kid. Remember—be polite, yes or no. Tell the truth, unless I lie first. Then no matter what, go with it.”

Harry took another deep breath. “Right, yeah. I’m good.”

I probably should have given him a calming potion before this. Ah, well.

Fudge waited until everyone was seated, then looked pointedly at Harry, who sat down edgily on the chair. The Minister took off his ever present bowler hat, and turned to me. “I…suppose we’ll need another chair…”

“Allow me,” I said. I waved my wand (making sure to use mine, and not Fred’s. I didn’t need to get caught using a spare wand). A fluffy, eye-watering magenta chair, embroidered with a large gold W, appeared next to Harry, whose lips twitched. Fudge huffed, and I took my seat.

“Yes, well, if everyone’s ready now…”

He started listing off the names of everyone present, their parents, their long lost cousins, and their long lost cousin’s twice removed brother’s dog. Umbridge gave both Harry and me the evil eye, which was slightly ruined by her frilly pink smile, frilly pink dress, and frilly pink toadness; Amelia Bones scrutinized Harry, mindlessly tapping her wand against her left palm; Wilkes and Travers glared at me, obviously miffed about their hurting toes; Percy ignored everyone but the Minister.

I zoned back in.

“Disciplinary hearing for the twelfth of August,” Fudge was saying. Percy’s quill started scribbling and scratching back and forth across his scroll. “Into offenses committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter…”

I zoned out again.

“Witness for the defense, George Fabian Weasley, the alternate.”

I blinked. They’d labeled me, had they? Interesting. And bigoted. I might have to worry about Umbridge attempting to boot me out of the castle on charges of ‘being impure’ and all that. Being other worldly was usually a complement; not that wizards would care.

“The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offense under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.”

Fudge cleared his throat. “Ahem. You are harry James Potter, of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” He glared at Harry, as though daring Harry to jump up and shout, “Nope! I’m Larry Dotter, of 5 Divet Prive, Mittle Flinging!”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“You received an official warning from the Ministry of Magic for illegal magic three years ago, did you not?”

I nodded ever so slightly, and Harry said, “Yes.”

He couldn’t start trying to argue the facts. That would lead to complications, which I didn’t feel like dealing with at the moment. One illegal trial over a completely trumped up charge at a time, please.

“And yet your produced a Patronus on the night of the second of August?”

“Yes—”

I glanced at Harry, my lips tight.

“Yes, I did.”

Good lad.

Fudge looked thrilled. He was underestimating me. “Knowing that you are not allowed to use magic while outside of school while you are under the age of seventeen?”

“Yes…” Harry glanced at me. I gave him a small smile and a thumbs up behind my back.

“Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?”

I shook my head ever so slightly.

Harry, who’d just taken a deep breath—presumably to state that, _yes_ , he had—paused.

“No.”

Fudge’s eyebrows shot up higher than a cursed broomstick. “No?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, _no_?”

Harry settled down a bit more in the chair. The kid could be very Slytherin when he wanted to be. He’d obviously found the first loophole—Dumbledore wasn’t here, and therefore the kid could—and would—think for himself.

“I did not produce a Patronus Charm in an area full of Muggles.”

Murmurings broke out across the benches.

Amelia Bones boomed out, “Explain.”

Harry didn’t bother looking at me. The boy practically oozed both confidence and innocence, a difficult feat to do at the same time.

“The only people around for at least five blocks was my Muggle cousin, Dudley, who already knows about magic, and a squib, a neighbor of mine. Mrs. Arabella Figg.”

Bones peered at Harry through her monocle. “We have no records of a squib in Little Whinging.”

“Nor did you have any record of Mr. Potter residing in Little Whinging until he came to school, and Dumbledore—” I gave a hefty pause. “Saw fit to tell the Ministry said information, which he had obviously been holding for a very long time.”

Fudge’s face matched his robes once again.

“I—”

I winked subtly at Harry. The one thing I do love about pre-war wizards—they won’t notice a damn thing even if it dances in front of them naked. “Well, Minister, it has been said, after all, that Dumbledore has been jumping to conclusions. Rumor has it there is a very good reason he’s been dismissed from the Wizengamot.”

All muttering stopped.

Harry, for his part, was doing wonderfully. Of course, I’d have hell to pay when he found out I’d played him, but the important thing was that he was working with me, at least for now.

As for the Wizengamot…Umbridge’s face was scrunched up in confusion. Fudge didn’t look much better. Bones’ face was stony, and the only sign she was actually alive was the whiteness of her knuckles as she clenched her wand. Percy was stoically ignoring anyone and everyone except his precious Minister.

“As the Ministry of Magic did not have any need to perform memory charms, I think it is quite clear Mr. Potter was not seen by anyone not already knowledgeable of magic,” I said.

Fudge cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he still did the charm!”

“Ah,” I said. “But Mr. Potter had very good—and _legal_ —reasons for performing the charm.”

Fudge looked like someone had just told him the NEWTs had been wrong and he got all Outstandings. “Yes, yes, I thought we’d be hearing something like this. Dementors, I suppose?”

“What could you possibly mean by that, Minister?” I asked. “Were Dementors sent near Little Whinging?”

Fudge turned plum again.

“Of course not! The Ministry would never do such a thing. The area is full of Muggles. I was informed Mr. Potter seemed to be suffering delusions about being attacked by Dementors.”

There were several things I could do from here. Since Harry probably wouldn’t like it, I decided against the insanity plea. I was good; I could easily get this off on a technicality. In fact, I already had one in mind.

“Mr. Potter spoke to no one except trusted associates about his trouble. How did you find out, Minister, if the Ministry did not send any Dementors?”

“Why—how dare—you dare blame the Wizengamot for this boy’s—madness?” Fudge bellowed.

“My client wishes to sue the Minister for slander,” I shot out. “Charges will be dropped if the Minister retracts his insults.”

Harry’s mouth twitched repeatedly. Up in the benches, Bones stared at me oddly, and Umbridge dropped her smile.

Fudge paled. His eyes shifted side to side, and silence filled the room.

“We shall worry about that later. As for the Dementors,” I said calmly. “Please excuse my naïveté, Madame Bones, but is it possible for Dementors to have gone rogue?”

Several people gasped, but Bones, as I knew she would, shook her head. “It has never happened before, Mr. Weasley.”

“What security measures are in place to ensure such a thing never happens?”

“All have been placed at Azkaban and cannot get off the isl—” she stopped speaking, and her face scrunched up. “I cannot tell civilians.”

“Dementors can fly, can they not?” I asked.

Bones’ eyes slowly drifted to Fudge, and then Umbridge. “It is an awful long way, Mr. Weasley.”

“So it is,” I noted.

And the seed of suspicion was planted among the Bones. Take that, Herbology lessons!

“It doesn’t matter!” Fudge bellowed, the looming lawsuit left behind in the cobwebs. “There were no Dementors in Little Whinging!”

“If you say so,” I said. “Then what is the matter?”

“The matter is that _this boy_ —” Here Fudge pointed a plum-colored finger at Harry— “did magic in the sight of Mug—did magic outside of school!”

“Well of course,” I said. “And what is the problem with that?”

Fudge gaped at me; Bones’ monocle popped out; Percy dropped his quill; Umbridge turned more plum than Fudge; Harry stared at me with wide eyes.

“The entire reason for this trial,” Bones stated, after replacing her monocle, “is that underage magic is not allowed outside Hogwarts.”

“Oh really?” I said, a large, pleased smile attaching itself to my features. “Well then, perhaps you had better look a bit closer at Mr. Potter’s Ministry-assigned privileges.”

There was muttering.

“On November 3rd of the year Nineteen Eighty-Two, Byron Moon suggested allowing Mr. Harry James Potter the rare privilege of performing magic outside of school, provided no Muggles saw him. The motion was seconded by Chester Quigley, and nine-eighths of the Wizengamot agreed.”

Silence dance across the floor. The two named individuals, or those whom I assumed to be said individuals, shifted nervously.

It was true, as unlikely as it seemed. Hermione had discovered it while digging around in her office some years after the War. Harry had been pissed; the rest of us got pissed from laughing so hard.

“As far as I am aware…” I gave everyone a loose, toothy grin. “Mr. Potter has broken no laws.”

“Weasley!” Fudge barked, turning to Percy, who jumped. “Is this true?”

Percy fumbled briefly for his wand, and then tapped his parchment. His eyes flitted back and forth across it several times. He glanced at me quickly, met my gaze, and turned back to Fudge. “Yes, sir. It is indeed true.”

Bones coughed lightly, a fist over her face. “Well, if that’s all, then we have no reason to—”

The door opened with a bang. “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, defense of the accus—”

The White Bee saw me relaxing in my chair. He came to a dead stop, and for a beautifully long moment, he stood gaping in the middle of Courtroom Ten.

Which, coincidentally, had just become my favorite courtroom.

Bones peered sternly over her seat, and gave Dumbles a steely stare. “Dumbledore. You are eleven minutes late to this trial, and quite unneeded. Also, as it appears, unwanted.”

Cue the snickers.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together, and his old, kindly grandfather image smiled away at the Wizengamot. “Amelia! I am afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I was to be Mr. Potter’s defense.”

“Mr. Weasley has been doing just fine, Dumbledore. Now leave, or I’m afraid you’ll have to be escorted out.”

Dumbledore turned to Harry. His head was down, and he wouldn’t meet the kid’s eyes. “My boy, I assure you I can help you. If you’ll just—”

“Mr. Potter, you are free to go.” Bones stood abruptly. “The Ministry apologizes for this inconvenience. I assure it will not happen again.”

“Mr. Potter also wants his other ‘offence’ done away with,” I said breezily. “The one from 1992.”

Bones nodded, and everyone else stood. Percy collected his quill and parchment. Umbridge glared.

“If the Minister does not publicly withdraw his earlier statements within a week, Mr. Potter will pursue the lawsuit.”

Fudge turned plum again. He coughed. “Ah, yes. Well, ah…yes, yes. Of course.” He puffed himself up, looking for all the worlds like he had just swallowed a hippogriff. “I was not as eloquent as I might have been, Mr. Potter. I simply meant—what I meant was—I spoke out of anger, my boy. Unjust anger.”

Fudge turned for the door and practically ran.

~!~

“I’m happy with that,” Harry said as we headed to the door. “I mean, he practically had a heart attack just saying that.”

I snickered. “Indeed it was so, Harrykins. Now, how do you feel about your newfound magical freedom?”

“I can really practice magic outside school?”

“Yep. The Wizengamot awarded it to you after defeating Riddle. Just don’t get caught.”

The kid frowned. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“Well…” I drawled. “Dumbledore, why don’t you answer that?”

“I…” Dumbles gazed about the room, looking at everything but Harry. The kid’s face drooped. “Harry, my boy, I was afraid the temptation would be too much. Magic is safest done inside Hogwarts until you graduate. Even powerful wizards like yourself—especially powerful wizards—can get hurt by it.”

“Rubbish,” I said. “It’s way safer than accidental magic, and Harry’s done plenty of that.”

“All the same, Harry, I would ask that you be very careful with what you do.”

Harry nodded glumly. “Yes, sir.”

“And now I am afraid I must be off. Fawkes appears to have had an excitable burning day—my office is completely destroyed. If you will?” Dumbledore, still looking away from Harry, strolled out the door.

“I was hoping he’d talk to me,” Harry admitted. “He won’t even look at me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s cause—” Uh-oh. I had forgotten about the horcrux in Harry. I needed to figure out how to get rid of it without killing him. “He’s worried about Voldemort, and he’s trying not to worry you.”

“He’s not making it better!”

I stopped walking. “He’s not perfect, Harrykins. Far from it, actually—tell you what. Think over this: who gave you to the Dursleys?”

Harry frowned. “He did.”

“Right. And who was your godfather?”

“Sirius. But he was arrested…”

“Not until two days after your parents were killed.”

“But Sirius had already run off,” Harry pointed out. “And I needed to go somewhere, if only for a little bit.”

“Harry, you’d just been attacked and then successfully killed a dark wizard. I seriously doubt any witch or wizard in their right or otherwise mind would’ve protested watching you for a day or two. You should’ve gone to St. Mungo’s first, anyway.”

“What’s St. Mungo’s?”

“Wizard hospital. Besides, Sirius was just your godfather. Do you know who your godmother is?”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t think I had one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Potter, of course you had one.” Madame Bones came to a standstill next to Harry, readjusting her monocle. “Unfortunately, Alice Longbottom was unable to perform her duties to you.”

Harry turned white. “Mrs. Longbottom was my godmother?”

“You should really get to know Neville some more,” I said. “My point, Madame, is that the Longbottoms were attacked three days after the fall of Riddle. Although it’s fortunate for all of us Harry wasn’t there, by all rights he really should’ve been.”

Bones pursed her lips. “Hm. Yes, I see your point. All the same, nothing can be done about it now.”

“True. It’s a real shame Sirius Black really is guilty here. How did his trial go? He never had one in my world.”

Bones stared at me in shock. “I—I don’t—he didn’t have a trial?”

“Many didn’t. Of course, the Lestranges and Crouch were practically caught in the act, but Crouch Sr. threw every suspected Death Eater in Azkaban unless they wriggled their way out, remember?”

Bones had power, and best of all, she was fair. If she knew Sirius hadn’t had a trial, she’d call of the manhunt to demand justice.

“Yes, of course. Terrible times, those were.” Bones peered at me through her monocle. “I wish to speak with you, Weasley. Could we arrange a meeting for some time this week?”

This I had not seen coming. “Ah, I’ll be settling in at Hogwarts this week, Madame Bones. Next week, perhaps?”

“Two o’clock on the seventh?”

“That’ll work. Your office?”

“Please do.” She strolled off, her plum colored robes flapping about her legs.

I ruffled Harry’s hair. “Come one. We don’t have all day.”

We passed by a furious Lucius Malfoy, a quivering Fudge, and a sour looking Umbridge on the way. Percy was following behind them at a small distance, looking stony, shocked, and somewhat miserable. How he managed that all at once, I wasn’t sure, but it must have his eyebrows. It is well known purple eyebrows can perform many expressions at once.

The worst thing? I wasn’t even the one who had given him those eyebrows, but seeing as he was clutching a letter with a clearly noticeable Norwegian stamp on it, I knew exactly who had done it; a pair of red headed twins, most likely. Which meant I had done it after all.

“So…Dumbledore,” Harry said as we made our way to the stairs. “He put me with the Dursleys because of the blood wards.”

“Harrykins, blood wards are highly illegal. Your mom got off ‘cause she was dead, and Dumbledore got off because he couldn’t very well punish himself. Also, there’s the small matter of the Dursleys hating you.”

“So? I don’t like them either.”

“And there’s the problem.” I sneezed as I accidentally kicked up a cloud of dust. “To work properly, blood wards need an emotional attachment. A positive one, not a negative one.”

Harry coughed. “So…the wards are protecting Dudley?”

“Come on, Harry, you’re smarter than this. Dudley’s Muggle.”

“But Dumbledore said—”

“Dumbledore’s plan, while rather clever, is a bit cold.”

“Don’t talk about Dumbledore that way!”

I sighed. Surely the ‘Dumbledore’s-man-through-and-through’ part hadn’t started this early?

“Harry, do you want me to treat you like a kid or not?”

“No.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Harry’s face turned pink, but he stayed quiet.

“Like I said, blood wards are illegal and also very hard to do. At least, ones like he described are. Clearly they also won’t work on you, but only Dumbledore knows that.”

“So…wait. What?”

The kid looked so confused.

“Harrykins, think about it. Clearly blood wards were useless. He told everyone he’d put them around you so they wouldn’t even bother trying to get you. Then he hid you away in the middle of Surrey where no one would bother to look.”

“They’re no blood wards?!”

“Nope. Besides, they wouldn’t work anyway, and I don’t mean because of the Dursleys. Riddle came back how?”

Harry frowned. “He…used…my blood.”

“Get it now?”

He nodded sullenly. “But why wouldn’t Dumbledore tell me?”

“Didn’t want to worry you. You have to remember, kid, he’s not used to sharing secrets. He’s also only human. Don’t worship him. As of this moment, he’s only your headmaster, and he hasn’t really done a good job of that.”

“Dumbledore’s a great—what do you mean?”

I sighed, and ended up choking on more dust. “Third year. Three headed dog, possessed professor, philosopher’s stone. Fourth year. Possessed girl, evil diary, petrified students, basilisk. Fifth year. Mass murderer, Dementors, illegal animagus, a werewolf.”

“Professor Lupin was the best teacher we’ve ever had!”

“Yes, he was. However, it was illegal for the parents not to be informed that he was there and what safety measures were in place. Oh, forgot about Lockhart in third. Anyway, sixth year, polyjuiced Death Eater as Defense professor—talk about irony. Also, a deadly tournament, an underage participant, a yule ball, and a portkey right on Hogwarts’ grounds.”

Harry coughed again. “Um, why is the yule ball with the list of bad stuff?”

“Harry, you took twins, _twins_ , and you sat around moping all night.”

He turned red. “Shouldn’t you be, you know, telling me against that? You’re a twin—that’s weird.”

I swung an arm around his shoulder as we staggered up another flight. “Harrykins, that’s exactly why I’m congratulating you!” I winked at him, and he snickered, his cheeks still pink.

“I didn’t take them both, anyway. Ron took Padma.”

“Yeah, but you two are practically twins yourselves, so I’d say it works. Speaking of, you did apologize to Parvati, right?”

Harry blanched.

I ruffled his hair again. “Right. Here’s what you do…”

By the time we reached the third level, I’d sketched out a plan for Harry and bribed him into following it. My goal was for him to end up with Ginny and give me two nephews and a niece, but there was no harm in him experimenting a bit first.

That mess with Chang didn’t count.

~!~

There was someone waiting for us at the third level.

I shrugged my arm off Harry, and carefully gripped my wand in my sleeve, remembering just in time to leave Fred’s hidden. It was a stranger, but no one used the stairs, so they shouldn’t be waiting there at all. They were waiting for us—had to be.

It was an Unspeakable. An Unspeakable with his hood down, showing short sandy hair and pale grey eyes, almost exactly like those of—

Croaker.

Crap.

“George Fabian Weasley, Alternate?” he asked in a bland voice.

“Why?”

“I am Professor Saul Croaker, Assistant Head of the Department of Mysteries, Personal Assistant to the Head of the Department of Mysteries, Secretary to the Head of the Department of Mysteries. I would speak with you.”

This did not bode well for me.

I pushed Harry toward the stairs. “Go up to level two. Dad’s desk is up there, you can stay with him ‘til I’m done.”

Harry looked at the Unspeakable. “But—”

“Shoo.”

The Unspeakable waited until he was out of sight before leading me down the stairs—again.

He didn’t give me time to complain.

“I have a few reasons for this visit.”

“Oh?” I asked, keeping my wand in my hand.

He withdrew his own and banished the dust in a twelve foot radius. “Indeed. You are the second last person to have seen Algernon Croaker, the head Unspeakable, before he mysteriously disappeared.”

“Yes, well, strange things do happen in that department, don’t they?”

“The last one was Lucius Malfoy, who blew up half the Department Head’s office and spent the rest of the evening and the following day with the Minister.”

I kept my voice soft, only mildly interested, as if we were speaking of the weather. “You think I had something to do with his disappearance?”

We turned down another flight of stairs; level five.

“The Department of Mysteries must follow every possible avenue, Mr. Weasley.”

“I see.”

We were both silent for the remaining two levels. The professor, probably Croaker’s son, was moving rather swiftly and obviously wanted to get a move on. I was worried this was a trap; either he knew, or heavily suspected, I had his father captive, or he wanted to find out about parallel worlds.

I refused to be a laboratory rat, thank you very much. Just the thought of being experimented on like that made me shiver and glance warily at him.

Professor Croaker led me through the hallway leading to the department. We walked through the obsidian welcome room, which still had its new decorations, and then through a door on the right.

His office looked very much like a regular office; the walls were a pleasant light gold, like honey, and the floor was a smooth brown wood. A comfy looking chair sat behind a solid oak desk, two seats were in front of it, and a large bookshelf filled the wall behind it. Numerous papers, parchments, and quills were neatly stacked on the desk, and about a few dozen clocks, watches, and hourglasses of all kinds were placed on shelves.

Croaker seated himself, and waved at me to take a seat as well. I did so. He did not offer a drink, nor food of any kind. I wasn’t foolish enough to ask.

Croaker’s eyes met mine. “Well, Weasley?”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t lie.” His voice cracked out violently, making me jump. “Is he harmed?”

Did stone count? “I don’t—”

Croaker took a sheaf of parchment off a random stack of memos and studied it closely. “My father is very…curious, and this often leads to complications. You clearly suffer from post-war mentalities. It is not difficult to piece together what happened. If you make this simple for me, I will not press charges, nor bring difficulties to you. On the other hand, the Department of Mysteries has a direct order from Dolores Jane Umbridge to keep and detain you for study.”

One of the clocks toppled off the shelf, its glass face splintered, its five hands twisted and warped. Croaker didn’t even look.

“Of course, we listen to none but the Wizengamot. All the same, the Minister’s Undersecretary is a very well-connected witch.”

Two hourglasses joined the clock on the floor.

Croaker set the parchment down. “Tea?”

“No.” I peered at the parchment; the Toad’s loopy signature was clear as day and hideous as she was, even upside down.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen this coming. The older Croaker was a buffoon, but there was no way I could stand against the Department of Mysteries as a whole. I was only one wizard, and while I was clever, I knew my limits.

“Is he injured?”

“…No.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“…He may have said something, but I don’t quite remember.”

“Hmph. When will he return?”

“…Three days.”

“Unharmed?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

Croaker stared at me, grey eyes unforgiving. “See that he does.”

“Of course.”

Somehow, the tension in the room eased after that. Not much, but a little. Then it was like a game. Croaker offered me tea again; I declined. He offered snacks; again, I refused. I asked about the clocks; he brushed them off as a hobby. When I mentioned prophecies, he laughed. He lamented about the future the world seemed to be heading to; I broke another clock—on purpose this time. He asked about Fawkes; I brushed off his questions with a polite ‘he’s fine’.

When his clocks chimed nine, I made my leave.

“I greatly enjoyed this little chat, Weasley,” he said, not rising from his chair. “Do come again soon; I’m sure we can learn much from each other.”

“Hmn,” I grouched, heading straight for the door. My head hurt.

“Do come again, won’t you? How about… one o’clock on the seventh?”

I froze, my hand strangling the doorknob, which squeaked in offense. He knew about my meeting with Bones. How? Had he been listening, or did he simply make it his business to know other people’s business inside the Ministry?

…Both, I suppose.

“That would be fine,” I ground out. “Good day.”

I left the department feeling as if I had just gotten a scolding from Flitwick. I hated Ravenclaws and their damn circular talks. At least with Slytherins you could throw a bag of coins or an embarrassing picture in their faces; with the Ravenclaws, you had to outsmart them to win.

Ha. That would be the day.

~!~

I decided to stop by Percy’s office before getting Harry. I didn’t know exactly where he worked, but a _point me_ charm led me to the fifth level.

The floor was divided into large sections, with cubicles in the middle and offices lining the edge. Each of the offices had a bronze name plate stuck to the door, with _Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic_ on the large center office. Underneath that were too smaller nameplates, _Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic_ and _Percy Weasley, Court Scribe_.

No one was watching, so I stuck my head inside. It was a small corridor with three doors. Flustered voices came from the one at the end of the hall, which bore a gold nameplate with Fudge’s name sprawled across it. I thought one of them sounded like the elder Malfoy, but I wasn’t going to check right now.

I rapped on Percy’s door.

He opened it, looking quite red in the face, his eyebrows still purple as ever and his glasses askew. “Yes? What is it—oh. It’s you.”

He made to close the door, but I stuck my foot through the doorway. “Percy! Let me in, big brother?”

He glared at me. “Come to express your disapproval at my abandonment of the family? Yes, please do. I’m not busy at all.” He gestured at his desk—at least, I thought it was his desk. It was rather difficult to tell what was under all the parchments, memos, and ink stains.

“Wonderful!” I ducked under his arm. “I think I will come in, now you mention it.”

He blustered, “Oh, get out, George! This isn’t—this isn’t funny! I don’t expect you to understand, but I have work to do!”

I sat down in an unoffered chair, leaned back, and threw my feet up on his desk. “Now that’s just rude, Perce. I’ve been working a good deal longer than you, and, unlike you, I actually run my own business. Try managing a shop, inventing products, selling products, and dealing with employees six days out of the week and see how you like it.”

Percy took a deep breath. His ears were red. “Get. Out!”

“Nope. Wanted to talk. Congratulate you for your new job, and all that. Oh, good work this morning. You looked very professional, didn’t stop scribbling once. Very much the proper scribe, Perce. Good for you. Although, I’d work on getting rid of those ink stains if I were you.”

Percy gaped at me. “You—you want to— _congratulate_ me?” he squeaked.

“Well, yeah. It’s not every day one is promoted by the Minister himself to Court Scribe. What did you expect?”

“Uh…well, I expected you to yell at me for—you know, leaving Father and the family.”

I tsked. “Percy, I’ve already yelled at you for that. It was a long time ago, and I’ve matured since then.”

He stared at me, disbelieving.

“Really, what happened was that you both lost your tempers. Of course, that’s no reason for one of you to not go apologize, but that’s your pride talking. Anyway, you both had a point, you know.”

“I…what?”

“Dad’s issue was that Fudge wanted to spy on us through you, right? And you said it didn’t matter, because he still gave you the position, and Dad just didn’t believe you could actually get it through hard work.”

“Er…”

“See, Dad doesn’t trust Fudge, and you don’t trust Dumbledore. Which is good, I might add.”

“What?”

“Dad was right in that Fudge wanted to keep an eye on him, but you were also right in that you’re quite talented at work like this—scribing, and all.”

Percy snapped his mouth shut. “You hate scribe work.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge you’re quite skilled at it.”

He blinked. “Well…thank you.” He blinked again. “I…” He quickly looked around.

“There’s a silencing charm up, don’t worry.”

He frowned at me. “Yes, well. I knew Father was right about Fudge, but he didn’t trust me to keep my mouth shut. I’m better than that. He should have trusted me.”

I nodded.

“Now what are you really here for?”

I inhaled deeply. “What, I can’t say hello?”

He scowled. “I read the paper. I’m not blind, George. You’re…different. Damaged. Even I can see that. It’s not hard to guess you want something, so what is it?”

Damaged?

I scowled back at him. “And how do you know me so well?”

“I’m your big brother,” he pointed out.

“I’m fourteen years older than you.”

“Yes, well, I’m clever. And you haven’t changed that much. You’re sadder, that’s all.”

I glared at him. “Sadder.”

“What do you want me to say? Less bouncy? Less exuberant?” He paused. “More…mature?”

“Oi!” I shot to my feet. “I’m the only who’s allowed to say that, thank you very much!”

“Well, it seems true. Did you really take the twins as apprentices?”

I paused. “Yes. Why?”

“To keep them safe and show them how to properly manage a shop?”

“…The first more than the second, but yes. Again, why?”

Percy sighed, and sat down wearily. “Because like it or not, you are far more responsible than your present teenage self. I am well aware it’s the twins who keep sending me these things, you know.” He waved at his eyebrows.

This was news to me. “You…do?”

“Oh yes. I don’t want to open them, but there’s always a chance they are actually from the Norwegians. That, and there’s a compulsion charm on each and every one of them.”

Oops.

I coughed into my fist. “Um, anyway, I actually stopped by to see if you might want to meet again. Apparently I’ll be stopping by here on the seventh, so I thought we could meet for lunch?”

He blinked. “That’s very thoughtful of you, George, but I’m very busy. I really should be working right now.”

“What, you can’t even take a twenty minute break to eat? Perce, that’s not work, that’s slave labor! I understand being a motivated employee, but don’t let them treat you like a house elf.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protested. “There’s just a lot going on.”

I leaned forward. “Twenty minutes, Percy. Come on, give it a try. It’s not that tricky; just breathe in, say yes.”

He frowned at me, and pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “Well…”

“Go on.”

“Twenty minutes. Not one more!”

I jumped to my feet. “Brilliant! See at you noon, then. The Leaky Cauldron, I insist.”

He sighed. “All right. Don’t get into any trouble, will you?”

I grinned. “Who, me? Whatever gave you that idea?”

I stepped outside and quietly swung shut the door. It had barely closed when none other than Lucius Malfoy stormed magnificently out the Minister’s office. His cloak swirled about his boots, and his cane thumped ominously with every other step.

He froze when he saw me.

I nodded stiffly. “Malfoy.

His lips stretched into a clearly forced smile. “Ah yes. George Weasley…alternate.”

“If you’ll excuse me.” I made to walk out the door, but his cane came up and hit the wall with a _whump_ , blocking my way.

“Do give me a moment,” he said, silvery blue eyes roving me up and down. “We haven’t been formerly introduced here, have we?”

I whipped out and my wand and tapped it sharply off his cane, causing sparks to fly. “No need. I’d rather have nothing to do with you at all, Malfoy. It was bad enough you actually chose the winning side and lived and I have to put up with being your grandson’s godfather.”

Malfoy Sr. went white. “I…what? But that’s—Draco would never…”

“Oh, he did quite a lot,” I said coldly. “Owes me and quite a few others, you see. Now, move before I meld your face to the wall.”

He sneered at me. “Liar. My son would never—”

“Believe whatever you want, blondie. It doesn’t change a thing.”

Malfoy flushed pink. He opened his mouth, but instead closed it. Nodding mockingly, he withdrew his cane and gestured at the door. “Be my guest.”

I bared my teeth in what could no way be considered friendly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, good sir.”

We stared at each other for several long seconds, neither willing to back down first. Neither of us had shown signs of planning to, either, when Fudge’s door swung open and the portly little fool tottered out, green bowler firmly on his head once more.

“Oh!” he cried, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of us. “Why, Lucius! And George. Whatever are you two doing here?”

“I believe George was just about to believe,” Malfoy said, brushing an invisible piece of dust off his cloak.

“Naturally,” I said. “But it would be so rude of me not to allow my elders to pass through first, don’t you think?”

Malfoy glared at me, but Fudge clapped his hands together cheerily.

“Of course!” he said. “Of course. It’s good to see people still have manners in this world.”

“Many people have manners where I come from,” I said, completely unable to resist the barb. “Of course, I’m sure just as many do here too. Mr. Malfoy, if you would?”

He glared at me before nodding coldly. He slowly stalked to the door, his cane thumping loudly.

I nodded at Fudge. “Minister. Good day.”

“And to you too,” he said absently, disappearing back into his office.

~!~

I found Harry sitting with Dad, getting his ear talked off by old Perkins. He looked like he had once been interested in the discussion—when he first saw the office, maybe.

“Morning Dad, Perkins. Mind if we head off?”

Perkins, his few wispy white hairs standing in all directions, jumped. “Oh goodness! Why, you must be the alternate George! Arthur’s been telling me all about you. And of course, your interview with Rita Skeeter was wonderful.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Dad, how’s it been?”

Dad sighed. “Oh, not too bad. Lucius Malfoy came up to gloat, but he hurried away when he saw Harry here. How about you? A meeting with Amelia Bones to look forward to, eh? I don’t envy you, son.”

“Pity. I was thinking you’d like to go in my place.”

“Not a chance!” Dad laughed. “And how did your talk with Professor Croaker go? I’m not fond of Unspeakables—not in any trouble, are you?”

“Apparently his father’s gone missing,” I said. “The department head. I was one of the last people to see him, so he wanted to know if I knew anything.”

Dad frowned. “Don’t get caught up with the Unspeakables, George.” He lowered his voice, and Perkins and Harry leaned in to hear him better. “Did you know anything?”

I shook my head. “Apparently he goes off on his own sometimes, and Professor Croaker just likes to know when.”

“Ah, I see.”

The three wizards seemed disappointed.

“Well!” Dad said, brightening up again. “Now Harry can do magic outside of Hogwarts—how splendid is that?”

“Very. Come on, Harry. Goodbye, Dad, Perkins.”

“Bye Mr. Weasley. Thanks for the talk, Mr. Perkins.” Harry stood, stretched, and strode over to me. We navigated our way back to the stairs, and went up the remaining levels. “Please tell me we’re not Apparating again.”

I slid my visitor’s badge across the security desk. At some point during the day, it had come to read ‘George Weasley, Alternate. Disciplinary Hearing’.

Wonderful.

“Sorry, kid. It’s much better when you do it yourself, you know.”

Harry slouched forward and grimaced. “Brilliant. When do I get to learn?”

I shrugged. “Normally it’s in sixth year, because you can’t get your license until you’re of age, but I bet you could learn early and just skive on the license for a bit. What with your wonderful freedom now, and everything. Come on then, grab on.”

He scowled, and gripped my arm. We popped off.

~!~

“Well, dears?” Mum clasped her hands together worriedly the moment we popped in. Everyone else froze, waiting for us to answer.

“I’m free,” Harry said with a grin.

“He got off! He got off! He got off!” the twins and Ginny started chanting, their arms thrown around each other while they danced around the cluttered kitchen.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Harry dear!” Mum blinked rapidly, and wrapped the kid in a tight hug. “Oh, you poor dear—and how did it go?”

“He got off! He got off! He got off!”

“Well…” Harry glanced at me. “Turns out the Wizengamot voted to let me use magic whenever I want after the first war ended. I didn’t get caught, so my record’s completely clean.”

The twins and Ginny ceased their chanting for a moment to join everyone in a round of shocked silence. Then they started up again, getting louder by the moment.

Mum gaped at him for a moment before pulling herself together. “Well, don’t go thinking this means you can start doing magic for every little thing now, dear. Part of growing up and being allowed to use magic is showing that you’re responsible, and while I don’t agree with it, if the Wizengamot agreed to it then Dumbledore obviously thinks it’s a good idea. I am glad he hasn’t told you before now, but I do wish he had waited a little longer—”

“Mum,” I interjected. “I told the Wizengamot. I told Harry. Dumbledore had no right to withhold that from him.”

She frowned at me. ‘Well of course he did! He’s the headmaster.”

“Exactly, he’s the headmaster. He shouldn’t legally be doing anything to Harry which doesn’t involve his education.”

Mum gaped at me.

The chanting trio grew louder.

“Well,” Sirius said, speaking loudly to be heard. “I say good for Harry! This means he can start training.”

“HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF! HE GOT OFF!”

“WILL YOU THREE SHUT UP?” Mum roared.

Unfortunately, she was standing rather close to me, and my remaining ear did not appreciate the level of noise being forced upon it. Swirls of color floated around my head, before a loud and painful _pop_ bounced through my skull.

“Ow…” I groaned, and reached up to clutch my throbbing head. I swallowed, and popped my jaw. The pain disappeared.

Mum and Sirius both froze, and pivoted toward me.

“Oh dear, George, what now?” Mum asked, hands on her hips.

 “I’m fine!” I raised a hand in defense, prepared to ward her off. “Seriously. I just…remembered…something I have to do.”

Amid the colorful swirling bearers of popping pain, something else had floated into my skull. A plot which was sure to bring Dumbles great grief…

“Would Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley happen to be around?”


	7. I Inherit a Sorta Dead Guy

Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley _did_ happen to be around. Right in the next room, in fact. The two Aurors were in the middle of an intense question-and-answer session with Mad Eye, and losing badly.

“It’s—it’s—well, it would be…” Tonks stammered. “It’s illegal, I know that.”

“It’s nice to see how strong and knowledgeable our Auror force is,” I said. “Makes me feel real safe and snuggly.”

Tonks flushed, Kingsley only nodded at me in greeting, and Mad Eye snorted.

“Aye, they’re nothing like they used to be. I’m shocked we won the war over there with you, Weasley. Would’ve thought we’d crash and burn.”

“The Order was only halfway useless,” I said. “Of course, most of us died, but still.”

“Wotcher, George,” Tonks said. She tried to take a step toward me, tripped over the rug, and crashed into Kingsley. “Oops! Sorry about that.”

He grunted. “S’ all right. Can we help you, sir?”

“Hmm?” I stared at him. “Oh, yeah. What did you think of Harry’s relatives?”

All three of them frowned. Well, Tonks frowned. Kingsley’s face turned stony, and Mad Eye’s regular face is enough to make sour milk puke.

“Tonks was the only one of us to actually guard the boy.” Moody’s eye rolled around and landed on a spot just behind my left shoulder. It froze there, never blinking.

“Well then, Nymphy?”

“ _Furnunculus_!”

“Eep!” I hit the ground and produced a hasty shield. Her boil-making curse bounced off it and dissolved with a hiss. “Merlin! What are you, three?”

Moody and Kingsley looked slightly impressed, probably at my reflexes, but Tonks was steaming. “Don’t call me that, One-Ear!”

“Oi!” I complained. “Come on now. Really?”

Kingsley coughed. “Tonks, did you see anything suspicious at Potter’s?”

Tonks’ hair was a bright, vivid red. “His relatives are weird, I’ll give you that. His aunt is so tall she could be part giant, but she’s way too skinny—looks like a horse. And the uncle and cousin easily weigh as much as Hagrid each, but they’re both a good head shorter than the aunt.”

“Yeah, knew that,” I said, thinking of the last time Ginny had invited both me and Dudley-Diddlekins to the same Christmas party. It had ended badly. “And their attitudes? What about them?”

“Urg, gross.” Tonks’ face and hair turned back to normal, and she curled her lip. “The aunt’s always spyin’ on the neighbors with that neck o’ hers, gossips all the time. The uncle isn’t home much, or he weren’t on my shifts anyway, but the cousin is a bully—went ‘round terrorizing all the kids, stealing their toys, beating them up for no good reason. Reminded me of a Slytherin.”

“What about Potter himself?” Moody asked. “What he’d do all summer? I told Albus it wasn’t a good idea fer him to be alone after what happened with Diggory.”

Tonks shrugged. “He was either in his room or outside doing gardening. Don’t know why—seemed like an awful lot of work he did. Is he any good at Herbology?”

“I saw some o’ the kid’s grades when I was last in Albus’ office,” Moody said. “Potter normally gets an E or an A. Got just one Outstanding through all o’ last year, and that was in Defense.”

Kingsley frowned. “If his relatives act like that, then hypothetically Potter should too, not the quiet hero he is. You said he’s doing all the gardening?” He turned to look at me.

“Yeah,” Tonks said. “Crazy teen.”

Moody’s glass eye wobbled a bit, then moved its glare from behind me to the ceiling. He hmmed. “Potter’s got bad sunburn, lots o’ bruises, and a nasty ol’ bump on his head. Might have a concussion.”

My face turned cold. “Concussion?”

That would explain his attitude, but he’d been at Grimmauld for almost a week. It was possible he’d gotten it when his cousin was knocking him around, but that would’ve been…well, a week ago. If Harry had had a concussion the entire time… Crap.

“I thought the kid was stellar at his trial,” Kingsley said. “That’s what everyone was saying. If he’s got a concussion, I want to know when and where he got it, and how we didn’t know about it.”

“What about the bruises and sunburn?’ Tonks asked. “Okay, not the sunburn, that makes sense. But why bruises? He’s not clumsy like me, and I haven’t seen him tumbling around with the other boys.”

Moody’s eye swiveled to glare at me. “Weasley?”

“The Dursleys,” I growled. “His cousin bullies him, I know that, and his aunt and uncle make him do a load of the housework.”

Kingsley didn’t look impressed. “Then why doesn’t Dumbledore know about this?”

“He does. After all, he knows about Sirius, and how many times has Sirius bragged about Harry begging to stay with him only moments after the kids discovered his innocence? Begging an escaped mass murderer you barely know to take you away from the relatives you’ve lived with for twelve years… yeah, that’s normal.”

Kingsley still wasn’t impressed. “Having a spoiled bully for a cousin and having to do more chores than most kids isn’t an excuse for that. Lots of kids are neglected and pushed around whether they live with their parents or not. Doesn’t make it right, but it doesn’t excuse what you’re saying.”

“No,” I agreed. “Living in a cupboard for ten years does, though.”

Behold the moment of silence.

Tonks gasped. Moody rolled his eye around to me. “Say what?”

“Anyone ever ask him what the Dursleys are like, or about his room, or any fun times he’s had growing up?” I asked. “Ever wonder why his clothes never fit, or why he’s so quiet, or why he’ll sometimes flinch if someone moves too fast around him?”

“That’s a serious accusation, especially concerning his fame,” Kingsley pointed out.

“And the fact that Dumbledore keeps him there,” I said. “You have the facts, you know where to look for proof. Now I want you to make a case and figure out how to present it in court so Harry can get away from there.”

Kingsley stared at me. It always drove me mad how hard he was to read. “Where would he go? No one in their right mind would turn down the Boy-Who-Lived, but there’s Potter’s safety to think about. At least he won’t get killed at the muggles’ home.”

“Have Mum and Dad take him,” I said. “They’ve got enough kids, and he’s practically one of us anyway.”

Tonks snorted. “Give him red hair and they’d probably think he really was theirs.”

“Oi,” I grumbled. “That’s only a little bit true.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Moody growled. “Ministry wouldn’t stand for it. They’d want him with popular purebloods, an’ any Death Eater ilk would just pay fer ‘im.”

“Not my problem anymore.” I grinned at him cheekily. “Ta ta!” Cue me diving for the door.

“Just wait for yours, Weasley!” Tonks called, but she sounded enthusiastic. “It’s coming!”

“Can’t wait to be impressed by the fearsome Auror Department, Nymphadora,” I called back. Whatever she said next was muffled by a loud crack next to me.

I grabbed for my wand, prepared a curse, and—

“Dibbley? Dobby?”

“Master Wheezy George!” Dobby squeaked. “You’s must come quickly! Dibbley has found something very strange in—” he paused, looked around, and quieted immensely—“Dibbley has found something very strange in your new things.”

New things? Well, that wasn’t at all vague. “Strange how?”

Dibbley snapped his fingers, and some type of ward went up. “Quiet ward so we’s not interrupted,” he explained. “Master Wheezy sir, Dibbley has found—”

“Dibbley has found a body, sir!” Dobby squeaked.

I stared at one elf, then at the other, then back again. “Dibbley found a what?”

Dibbley tried to kick Dobby’s ankle. “Dibbley has found a wizard’s body in Mister Dumbador’s things, Master Wheezy.”

Everything went blurry as I tried to process this. “A body?” I asked. “Whose body?”

Both elves shrugged.

“All right,” I said. I had nicked stranger things before. Probably. “Lead the way.”

~!~

I sunk down into Dumbledore’s floral patterned armchair as I stared at what could only be the body of a wizard. It—he—was floating in some sort of glowing yellow spell inside a compartment of a rather large trunk. He was deep down, and difficult to see from my vantage point outside the trunk, but he seemed familiar. Shoulder length black hair. Scarily pale complexion. Fangs poking out from his lips—kidding.

“Either of you know him?”

Dobby and Dibbley shook their heads.

“All right,” I said. “Fawkes?”

The phoenix gave a chirp in the negative and continued his preening.

“So we have no idea who he is or why he’s in Dumbledore’s trunk?”

“No, Master Wheezy sir,” Dibbley said. “But he’s is not dead.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”

“That is stasis spell on him. Stasis spells are for living things only. On dead things, wizards use preservation spells.” He wrinkled his nose. “Strange spell, though. It’s to keep him alive and sleeping, but not the same.”

I looked at the ‘sleeping’ wizard. “You mean he’s still aging?” He looked just a little older than me. Mid-thirties, probably.

Dibbley nodded. “Yes, Master Wheezy.”

“So why the hell did Dumbledore have him?”

Both elves shrugged.

“Fawkes? You sure you don’t recognize him?”

Fawkes froze mid-preen to glare at me.

“All right, I get it,” I said. “So will I disturb the spell if I drop down there for a peek?”

Dibbley shook his head. “You’s will fall asleep, Master Wheezy George, but he won’t change.”

I nodded, thinking hard. “That’s a problem, because I really need to know what reason Dumbledore could possibly have for holding a wizard hostage like this. Any idea how long he’s been down there?”

Dibbley shook his head again, but Dobby paused. “Master Wheezy George,” he said slowly. “Dobby thinks sleeping wizard is a pureblood.”

At least it was something. “Why?”

“Sleeping wizard’s robes are fancily embroidered,” he pointed out, “but family crest has been cut out. Dobby thinks he’s hiding or disowned, Master Wheezy George.”

“Don’t call me that,” I reminded him. “So…Dumbledore had a disowned or hiding pureblood wizard locked in a trunk. Now I have a disowned or hiding pureblood wizard locked in a trunk. Dobby, Dibbley, I need you two to work with the other elves to figure out who the hell he is and what on Earth Dumbledore wanted with him, all right?”

Both elves nodded.

“And Fawkes, I need you to—”

The ungrateful bird hissed at me.

“You can wash another time. I need you to try and figure out the same, all right? Or is that too menial a task for your highness? Because I can stop feeding you anytime you like.”

The bird ignored me and went back to preening.

“Dibbley, is there any way I can get down there without passing out?”

Dibbley frowned. “Maybe.”

I sighed. “Anyway I can get down there now?”

“Bubble head will stop you from breathing the spell,” he said. “It might work.”

“But there’s a chance it won’t? You two can yank me out of there if it doesn’t, right?”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. Dibbley nodded less so.

“All right,” I said. “Will I wake up once I’m out of there?”

Dibbley’s nodding was much more positive this time.

“Sounds good to me.” I pointed my wand at my head. “ _Bublet Caput_!”

A pink bubble swelled out of my wand and surrounded my head, quieting everything almost entirely. I struggled out of the armchair, strolled my way over to the trunk, and hopped over the side. The stasis charm was thick and sludgy for glowing yellow light, and walking through it reminded me of walking underwater, but my charm held. I gave the elves a thumbs up.

Dobby gave me one back.

The wizard was laying limp on the ground. I knelt down to examine him closer, and was reminded of—I didn’t remember who, but someone. Damn it. He had sharply defined features, and a few light crisscrossing scars on his right cheek. I pulled up an eyelid and was rewarded by a dark grey iris which, once again, I felt I should recognize.

I felt up and down his sides, then noticed his wand—redwood and dragon heartstring, I think—at his side. I scooped it into my pocket. It wouldn’t do if he woke up by accident and immediately armed himself. Then I yanked up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark stared up at me, the snake endlessly circling the skull, both as black as the sleeping man’s hair. I stared at it, a bitter taste in my mouth.

The first time I had seen this had been at the World Cup, Ireland vs Bulgaria, where Krum had made his amazing catch but still lost the game. The last time I had seen it—

I yanked his sleeve back and looked up. Four large eyes stared at me in fear.

“Right, you two,” I said, my voice echoing inside the bubble. “This changes things. When you’re out there looking for information about this fellow, be very, very careful. Don’t go alone.”

The elves nodded.

I grabbed the edge of the trunk, clambered out, and shut the lid quicker than was probably necessary. I reluctantly released the bubble head charm, then conjured a quill and some parchment and hastily scribbled a few ingredients.

“Dibbley, I need these as quickly as you can get them. Turn the pewter cauldron on low, would you?” The elf grabbed the list and started rummaging through what stores I had. I turned to Dobby. “Thanks for this. You can stick around if you want, but I don’t have anything for you to do right now.”

“Dobby is watching Harry Potter,” the elf admitted. “Harry Potter is in danger from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and must be protected.” He eyed me cautiously. “Dobby is correct?”

I snorted. Then I remembered how Dobby had died and sobered up. “Be careful, all right?”

Dobby nodded enthusiastically, causing several of his tea cozies to finally fall off, and popped away.

I turned to the heating cauldron, and cleared off a section of a worktable with a swish and jab of my wand. “We have everything?”

Dibbley nodded and set a bunch of jars and bottles on the table.

“Good. We need three ounces of crushed beetle eyes in the mortar, then three teaspoons of honey, a horned slug, and seven drops of castor oil…”

~!~

Half an hour later I had a cauldron full of Super Sticking Salve, another infamous product of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, which I thickly lathered onto the edges of the trunk with Mr. Sleeping Death Snacker. Sticking charms work fine, but charms can always be undone by someone better than you. Salves and potions need antidotes to stop working.

“Think he’ll suffocate?” I asked.

Dibbley shook his head. “Remember the stasis spell, Master Wheezy sir.”

“Good. Now, think you can make this by yourself?”

He frowned at me.

“Of course you can. Silly me. So if I gave you a whole bunch of recipes…”

His eyes lit up. “Dibbley will make whatever potions and salves he can, Master Wheezy sir! He can make many. He just needs ingredients.”

“I’ll stock up soon,” I promised. “And in a few months the greenhouse will be full too.” I wandered about the room, picked a few well-worn books off the shelves, and presented them to the elf. “It’s all color coded. Make as many of the pink marked Skiving Snackboxes as you can first, all right? And don’t eat them.”

He nodded happily. I remembered I was talking to a house elf.

“How about a thousand products to start with? Use as much of a batch as you can. If you need jars or bags, let me know, and make sure you mark them.”

He kept nodding.

“Don’t forget to eat and sleep.”

The nodding slowed.

“And don’t forget—”

Dobby popped into the room. “Master Wheezy George, sir! Mister Scary Wheezy is here for you with the twinses.”

Mister Scary Wheezy—I mean, Weasley? “Who?”

Bill poked his head in. Ah, good. I needed to talk to him. “Apparently your elves think I’m scary. Which I find ironic, since they live with you.”

“In their defense,” I said, “they haven’t been here very long yet, and they aren’t allowed in the basement.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “Now I’m scared to go in the basement. Thanks.”

“Since you’re here, I wanted to ask you something.”

“That’s actually kind of terrifying, coming from you. Do the twins need to be here too? Because I see that Extendable Ear creeping down the hallway, Fred, George.”

I poked my head out just in time to see a small pinkish blob be yanked around a corner and vanish. “Oi, you two! Get in here!”

The twins appeared with two loud cracks, wearing large grins and not looking the least bit apologetic.

“Oops,” Fred said.

I summoned a stack of books and thrust them into Junior’s arms. “Here you go. Custom products of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Pack your trunks first, and don’t get in Dibbley’s way.”

Their eyes widened, and Fred dropped the Extendable Ear to grab some books from the stack for himself. They started flipping through them.

“Look at this one,” Junior muttered to Fred, showing him a page. “Bloody brilliant, that is. Think Ginny would mind if we asked her to test it out?”

Bill let himself into the workroom. “So,” he said, “I’ll be leaving very shortly and not coming back, but you wanted to talk?”

“Relax, Bill!” I shut the door, blocking out the muttering twins, and took a seat. “We won’t do anything too horrible to our favorite brother.”

“I feel completely reassured. Why did I ever doubt you?”

I ignored his rudeness and clapped my hands together. “So did you hear about Dumbles’ office?”

Bill looked resigned. “Of course that was you.”

“Who else it would be? Anyway, I took everything. Including the Sorting Hat, the portraits, the lemon drops, and his bookshelves.”

He sighed and propped himself against a counter. “I think I’d really prefer to have some plausible deniability, George.”

“Shut up. I found a body.”

That shut him up for a moment. “A human one?”

“Yep.”

“Dumbledore had a dead body in his office?”

“Well, it’s not dead.”

His left eye twitched. “You found a not-dead human body in Dumbledore’s office?”

“Yep.”

“I get the feeling I really don’t want to know but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Yep.”

He rolled his eyes. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.” I scratched my head. “He looks damn familiar, though. I asked the elves to keep an ear out, try and figure out who he is and why Dumbles had him. Here’s the weird part, though—he’s a Death Eater.”

Bill whistled. “For real?”

“Saw the Mark myself. I’d show him to you, but I sealed up the trunk pretty good.”

“You locked him in the trunk?” Bill eyed said object suspiciously, and his hand started creeping toward his pocket.

“Nah. Dumbledore had him under a sort of sleeping charm, so I just left him there. Don’t want to accidentally let a crazed murderer loose. _Especially_ one Dumbledore had locked up.”

Bill frowned at the trunk. “I take it you didn’t know about this?”

“As far as I know, he might’ve never even existed in my world. He did look familiar, though. I was thinking I might’ve seen a picture or a relative somewhere.”

“You better not be expecting me to help you look.”

That startled a laugh out of me. Bill didn’t even know what Sleep Snacker looked like; how by Merlin’s crisscrossed eyes was he supposed to help me look? “Merlin, no! I mostly wanted to share it with you, see if you could keep an ear out for any missing Death Eaters or secret plans of Dumbledore’s.”

“So what I’ve already been doing?”

“Pretty much.”

Bill didn’t look away from the trunk. “Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“You going to be all right?”

I shrugged. “Why would I not be?”

“I don’t know. Let me list the reasons.”

“You’re awful sarcastic today, you know that? I don’t think you mean a word coming out of your mouth, Bill, and if I didn’t know better I’d say you’d were confunded. I’m getting sick of it. I’m the rude one.”

He gave a hollow laugh, and crossed his arms. He refused to meet my eyes. “I guess it just didn’t hit before, right? I mean, you’re my little brother, and you’re seventeen and thirty-two. And Fred could be dead in three years. And I might get bitten by a werewolf, and you’ve got _kids_ , George, and it’s just too much! I mean, I knew you were real, that everything you said was true, but I just didn’t—I didn’t really believe it until this morning, when you knew _exactly_ what Fudge was up to at the trial. And you just—you went around it, like you’d lived through it once before, and then I realized that you had, and everything else just kind of clicked into place.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Bill had culture shock.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it coming. As hard as it was for me to be living everything over again, everyone else was watching me living it again, and getting a look at your future was never fun, especially when that future was insane and murderous and not that far away. That was why nobody liked prophecies.

“Dibbley,” I said, “give us a moment?”

The elf put a charm over the bubbling cauldron and popped away.

“Bill. Look at me.”

Bill did not look at me.

“William Weasley, _look at me_!”

Bill dragged his eyes toward me and settled them somewhere over my shoulder. I decided that was good enough.

“Bill, it happens. You think Mom and Dad aren’t panicking about this? That Percy isn’t hoping it’s all some elaborate prank? That Charlie’s probably freaking out right now because he just read Skeeter’s article? That Ron and Ginny are trying to figure out how their brother could die?”

My voice cracked.

“Bill, I saw you live through it once. I did. You didn’t. And you’re not going to, because you are not him. Hear me? You. Are not. Him. You have a girlfriend, you have a job, you are young and whole and barely remember what war’s like. You despise raw meat and can’t imagine settling down and getting a normal job and having kids. And someday, when you say so, you are going to make your own life and not try and follow whatever you think the future’s supposed to be because I said something happened a certain way where I come from.”

He didn’t look up.

“Because if you don’t, you’ll have _three_ Weasley twins after you.”

_That_ made him glare at me.

“Bill, the future’s not set. I mean, I don’t know a whole lot about this stuff, way too confusing, but I do know that every prophecy has about a million different possible ways of turning out, and that _has_ to mean we have some sort of control over our own destiny. We have choices. What’s real to me isn’t real to you. My past is not your future.”

His glare intensified. Pre-werewolf glare looked measly and unintimidating. Or maybe it was the lack of yellow eyes. Bill’s eyes always turned yellow when he was angry.

“Now stop making me quote poetic. I’ll throw up.”

Bill snorted, hung his head, and snorted again. Something in his posture relaxed, and all of a sudden he didn’t look so stressed anymore.

“Okay,” he said. “Fine. For your sake, I will stop worrying about the future and prophecies and evil dark wizards. Happy?”

“Oh sweet Merlin, no, I’m not happy,” I said. “I haven’t gotten laid in two years.”

Finally, Bill threw his head back and laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And seeing him laugh made me feel just a little bit better, like some part of me was still normal, fun-loving George Weasley.

“Now,” I said as he caught his breath, “I assume this wasn’t just a social visit on your part?”

“I needed to drop the twins off. They were driving me insane. What the hell is a canary cream?”

I grinned.

“Forget it, I don’t want to know. Now that you mention it, Tonks did ask me to remember as much as I could of Harry’s relatives and write it up for her. You asked her to look into them for you?”

“Her, Kingsley, and Moody,” I said. “Figured they’re trust worthy, and they’ll definitely get the job done. Besides, people will listen to them. They’re respected. Well, Kingsley is. Tonks is loud, and Moody has contacts. So word will get out. Besides, I planted the nugget that Sirius might not have had a trial to Amelia Bones, so that should start bearing fruit soon. Remind me to get some wards on her house before Christmas though, all right?”

Bill frowned. “Why Christmas?”

“I thought you didn’t want to know the future.”

He threw a stinging hex at me. “Idiot. Come on now, tell me why I should get to work on that ward scheme.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” I laughed, rubbing the welt on my shin. Then, sobering up, I added, “Why do you think? She’s Head of the DMLE, Bill. She’s a formidable dueler, a brilliant witch, and lost a lot of family to Riddle in the first war. She’s got a big target on her back.”

“She has a niece, doesn’t she?”

I grimaced. “Yeah, Susan. Hell of a dueler, that one. Don’t fancy ever crossing wands with her. Did you know, I once saw her take out three Death Eaters with one cutting curse?”

“You’re serious?”

“Dead so. She’s a powerhouse. In fact, I’m hoping to introduce her to Harry, get them to train together, get to know each other better.”

He grinned. “Playing matchmaker already, George?”

“Shut up! Harry’s future love life is not one I’m hoping to change all too much, because his kids are darn cute. Besides, Ginny would murder me.”

Bill laughed. Then froze. “Ginny?”

“Mhmm. Big surprise, I know.”

“He marries Ginny?” Bill’s voice grew steely.

“Calm down. It was more like Ginny married him, but yeah. Just give the kid some time. He did take down a Dark Lord.”

Bill didn’t look convinced.

“Look, at least let him grow a little before you kill him?”

“I’m not making any promises.”

I sighed. “I might as well warn you, Dobby’s keeping an eye on him.”

“Dobby? The house elf? The same house elf who stole the kid’s mail, locked him and Ron out of King’s Cross, and bewitched a Bludger?”

“The same.”

Bill put his hands up. “I’ll just keep my feelings to myself, then.”

“Want to know happened to him?”

“Not really, no. why? Need to get it off your chest?”

“Just curious.”

We sat (well, I sat. He stood) in companionable silence for a while.

“You know Hogwarts is tomorrow,” he finally reminded me again.

“Yeah, I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m pretty sure I get quarters in the castle, but I can use Fawkes to get us in and out whenever I want. Also, I’m hoping to peek at the wards and try and make some usable portkeys.”

“And about the danger this year?”

I eyed him suspiciously. “What danger?”

“The danger you mentioned when you were berating Dumbledore about the terrible state of the wards. You told McGonagall to go grade homework when she asked you about it, remember?”

I did remember it, actually. “I guess it’s kind of a given there’ll be danger, with Harry there, isn’t it?”

“A bit, yeah. So what is it?”

I made a face. It was awful, was what. Or it had been. I was planning on turning the tables this time around. “The Ministry’s sending a Defense professor, is what.”

“It’s not Percy, is it?”

I snorted. “Deer Merlin, if only! No, it’s Fudge’s main lackey. Nasty sadist, she is. Hates muggleborns and blood traitors and all that. Used a blood quill in detention. See?” I held up my fist.

“I…will not…set people…on fire,” he quoted slowly. “Merlin’s lost wand. She used it on the students?”

“I used to cover for first years. But I told the twins to give her something special, and I’ll be watching her. I was actually thinking—you know what, never mind.”

Bill stared at me. “Never mind what?.”

I didn’t say anything.

“It’s illegal, isn’t it? That’s really all you’ve been doing so far, so what’s the problem? You’re not planning to use an Unforgivable, are you?” he joked.

I shrugged. “Someone has to play nasty to beat the bad side. Might as well be me, seeing as how I’ve already done it.”

He widened his eyes. “George, I don’t want to know when you’re going to use an Unforgivable, all right?”

I should’ve seen this coming. “All right.”

“Or…or when you’re going to kill someone. Or torture them. Or…blimey, George, at least don’t spring it on me like this!”

“Sorry.”

“Liar. Just don’t tell me anymore. What are you going to tell the twins?”

“I figured I’d tell them the truth about Umbridge, and I’m going to be training them, obviously, but I’d rather they finish their last year with a bang.” I couldn’t stop the monstrous grin that clawed its way up my face with that statement.

“I suppose that’s literal—and no, I don’t want to know about it until it happens! Just keep them out of too much trouble, all right? Actually, forget that. You’ll probably get them in more trouble. Just let me know if you need anything.”

I nodded, stood, and held out my hand. He shook it. “Deal.”


End file.
